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rsTERiES OF Marseilles 


A LOVE STORY. 


BY EMILE ZOLA. 

AUTHOR OF “ NANA,” ” L* ASSOMMOIR,” ” HELENE,” “ MAGDALEN FERAT,” 
“alrine; or, THE abbe's temptation,” “the conquest of PLASSANS,” 

“ POT-BOUILLE,” “the ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY; OR, MIETTE,” 

“ THERESE RAQUIN,” “ THE MARKETS OF PARIS,” “ LA CUREE,” 

“ MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON.” 


TRANSLATED BY GEORGE D. COX. 


“The Mysteries of Marseilles” is a novel of wonderful power, realism and 
interest ; indeed, it is safe to say that its gifted author never wrote a more remarkable 
work. Thorough originality characterizes every line of it, and every page teems with 
excitement. From the flight of Blanche de Cazalis with Philippe Cayol in the first 
chapter to the last sentence in the book there is a constant stream of stirring and 
unexpected incidents. The flight of the lovers is a pen picture of rare vividness, and all 
its lurid details remain stamped on the reader's mind. Philippe's arrest is another touch 
of rare naturalism ; it is treated in a style that only a great master of fiction could 
attain. The trial for abduction, Blanche's perfidy and the struggles of Philippe's up- 
right brother Marius are described in a most absorbing fashion. As in his novels, Zola 
tells everything, exposing vice in all its hideousness and contrasting it with virtue of the 
sternest type. The plot is complicated, but is capitally worked out, everything being 
made clear at last. Of course, “ The Mysteries of Marseilles ” will be read by everybody. 


A 


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PHILADELPHIA: - 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 


306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


copyright: 

' 1882 . 


4 > 


lEMIl.Tl ZOIiA’S ORSAT WORKS. 

The Mysteries of the Court of fiOuis ]^a[>o9eoii. By Emile Zola, 
author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” “ Pot-Bouille,” “ Helene,” etc. 

That Zola has painted the corruptions of the Imperial Court of Louis Napoleon in 
thrilling language is very certain ; and as a picture of the n)anner in which a scorned 
and slighted woman avenges herself, this work is absolutely without a parallel. 

Kana. The Sequel to “ li’Assoasimoir.” By Emile Zola, author of 
“ Pot-Bouille," “ L’Assommoir.” etc. With a portrait of N ana ” on the cover. 
“Nana” is a variety actress, whose chainiiiig face and magnificent figure create a 
furore amongst the fashion of Paris, and the work is a recital of her daily life, on and off 
the boards — a life of perpetual excitement, and of uninien uiked pleasure. Both behind 
the scenes and at her rooms she is constantly surrounded by a crowd of attendants. 

li’Assommoir. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “Pot-Bouille,” “Albine,” 
“ Helene,” etc. With a portrait of “ Gervaise,” the mother of “ Nana,” on the cover. 
“L’Assommoir” is one of the greatest and most extraorditnary works ever written, full 
of nature and of art, dramatic, narrative, and pictorial. It is without a rival. 

Ifelene, a liOve Episode; or, Une Pag’e 3>’Asuo«r. By Emile Zola, 
author of “Nana,” “Pot-Bouille," etc. With a portrait of “ Helene" on the cover. 
“Helene," by author of ' Nana," is full of powerful and life-like delineations of char- 
acter. Besides the love story running through the volume, there are many pages 
devoted to rapturous descriptions of Paris at sunrise, at noonday, at sunset, and at night. 

Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. (Ea Faute de I/Abbe Moii- 
ret.) By Emile Zola, author of " Nana." With a portrait of "Albine" on cover. 
**Albine" is one of the most pathetic, chartjiing, and sweetest love stories ever printed. 
It is so real, that one can almost smell the flowers described and inhale the perfumed 
air. It is so pathetic that it brings tears to the eyes. 

Mag^dalen Feral. By Emile Zola, author of " Nana," “ Pot-Bouille,” etc. 

" Magdalen Ferat " is a love story of pronounced strength and absorbing interest. It 
has a well-constructed plot, which is developed in masterly fa.shion. There is not a page 
of the story that will not be read through and appreciated. 

Therese Raqiiln. A Novel. By Emile Zo/a, author of " Nana," " Pot-Bouille," etc. 

"Therese Raquin " is a powerful and realistic story, and no one bufZola could have 
written it, for his talent and genius cannot be questioned. 

The Roug-on-Macqnart Family; or, Mietle. (Ea Fortune des 

Roiig'Osi.) By Emile Zola, author of " Nana." With a portrait of " Miette.” 

In " Thk P.ougon Macquart Family ; or, Miktte," by author of" Nana," Zola depicts 
people as he sees them ; he sets down their passions and their weaknesses, their petty 
jealousies, and small rivalries, while his heart is as tender as his pen is forcible. 

The Markets of Paris; or, Ee Ventre De Paris. By Emile Zola. 

“The Markets op Paris," by author of “Nana," is a remarkable work In it Zola 
introduces us to the Parisian cook shop — and in la belle Lisa we find the sister of Ger- 
vaise, the woman who stirred the depths of our hearts with pity, in " L’Assommoir." 

The Conquest of Plassaus. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana." 

Zola’s command of language is marvellous, and he uses it so accuratelj' that the reader 
has before him the individual, the act or scene, the hour of the day or night he describes. 

Pot«Boaille. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” “ Helene," etc. 


CONTENTS. 

» « ♦ 

Chapter Page 

I. HOW BLANCHE DE CAZALIS PLED WITH 

PHILIPPE CAYOL 21 

II. MARIUS CAYOL 28 

m. THE ABBE CHASTANIEE 35 

IV. HOW M. DE CAZALIS AVENGED HIS NIECE’S 

RUNAWAY 45 

V. THE WAY OP THE TRANSGRESSOR 54 

VI. HUNTED DOWN 60 

VII. BLANCHE TURNS AGAINST PHILIPPE 75 

VIII. THE POWERLESS BROTHER 83 

IX. M. DE GIROUSSE GOSSIPS 93 

X. PHILIPPE’S TRIAL 106 

XI. BLANCHE AND PINE PACE TO PACE 114 

XII. pine’s strategy 121 

Xlir. A SCOUNDRELLY BANKRUPT 127 

XIV. A DEFAULTER 136 

XV. PHILIPPE REFUSES TO ESCAPE 146 


( 19 ) 


20 CONTENTS. 

Chapter Page. 

XVI. THE USIJEERS 152 

XVII. TWO INFAMOUS SCOUNDRELS 168 

XVIII. A RAY OP HOPE 175 

XIX. A REPRIEVE 182 

XX. POLITICS AND JUSTICE 188 

XXI. REPARATION AND REWARD 197 

THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER. 

I. THE BETROTHAL 203 

II. THE ATTACK ON THE MILL 214 

in. THE PLIGHT 226 

IV. A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 238 

V. THE RETURN OP THE FRENCH 249 


THE 


MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

AUTHOR OF “ POT-BOUILLE,” “ NANA,” “ l’ ASSOMMOIR,” ‘^THB MARKETS OF PARIS,” 
“ THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON,” ” THBRESE RAQUIN,” 
”aLBINE; OR, THE ABBe’s TEMPTATION,” ” MAGDALEN FERAT.” 

“the ROUGON-MACQUART FAMILY, OR, MIETTE,” 

“ HELENE ; OR, UNE PAGE d’ AMOUR,” 

“the conquest of PLASSANS.” 






CHAPTER L 

HOW BLANCHE DE CAZALIS FLED WITH 
PHILIPPE CAYOL. 

T owards the dose of the mouth of May, a man 
about thirty years old was walking rapidly along 
a path in the Saint- Joseph district, near the Aygalades. 
He had left his horse in the care of a farmer of the 
vicinity, and was going in the direction of a large, 
solidly built square mansion, a sort of country chateau 
similar to many found upon the hills of Provence. 

He made a turn to avoid the chateau, and seated 
himself in the midst of a grove of pines which stretched 
out behind the dwelling. There, putting aside the 

( 21 ) 


22 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


branches, he uneasily and excitedly scanned the path- 
ways, seeming to be impatiently awaiting some one. 
At times, he arose and walked a few steps ; then he 
sat down again, all of a tremble. 

This man, tall and strange looking, wore large black 
side-whiskers. His long face, full of energetic features, 
possessed a sort of violent and fiery beauty. Suddenly 
his eyes softened and his strong, thick lips assumed a 
tender smile. A young girl had just quitted the 
ch§,teau, and, bending as if for concealment, was 
hastening in the direction of the grove of pines. 

Panting and rosy, she came beneath the trees. She 
was scarcely sixteen. Amid the blue ribbons of her 
straw hat, her youthful visage smiled with a joyous 
and frightened air. Her fiaxen locks fell over her 
shoulders ; her little hands, pressed against her bosom, 
strove to calm the bounds of her heart. 

‘‘How long you have kept me waiting, Blanche,” 
said the young man. “I had given up all hope of 
seeing you.” 

And he aided her to seat herself beside him on 
the moss. 

“ Pardon me, Philippe,” answered the young girl. 
“My uncle has gone to Aix to purchase a property; 
but I could not get rid of my governess.” 

She abandoned herself to the clasp of him she 
adored, and the two lovers indulged in one of those 
long chats so silly and so sweet. Blanche was a big 
baby who played with her admirer as she would have 
played with a doll. Philippe, ardent and mute, 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


23 


embraced and looked at the young girl with all the 
transports of ambition and love. 

And, as they sat thus, oblivious of the world, they 
raised their heads and saw that some peasants, who 
were passing along a neighboring path, were staring 
and laughing at them. Blanche, startled, drew away 
from her lover. 

‘‘ I am lost,’' said she, growing deadly pale. “ Those 
men will tell my uncle. Ah ! in pity save me, 
Philippe!” 

At this cry, the young man arose with a hasty 
movement. 

If you wish me to save 3^ou,” replied he, impetu- 
ously, ‘‘}"ou must marry me. Come, let us fly together. 
To-morrow, your uncle will sanction our marriage, 
and we can enjoy our tenderness forever I ” 

“Fly — fly,” repeated the girl. “Ah ! I have not the 
courage. I arn too weak, too timid 1 ” 

“I will sustain you, Blanche. We will live a life 
of love I ” 

Blanche, without comprehending, without replying, 
allowed her head to sink upon Philippe’s shoulder. 

“Oh! I am afraid, I am afraid of the convent,” 
resumed she, in a low tone. “ You will love me 
always ? ” 

“ Yes, for I adore you ! See, I am on my knees ! ” 

Then, closing her eyes, abandoning herself to her 
fate, Blanche ran down the hill, leaning on Philippe's 
arm. As she departed, she gave a last look at the 
mansion she had quitted, and keen emotion brought 
great tears into her eyes. 


24 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


A moment of heedlessness and terror had sufficed 
to cast her into her lover’s arms, crushed and trusting. 
She loved Philippe with all the new-born ardor of her 
young blood and with all the madness of her inexpe- 
rience. She escaped like a school-girl ; she went 
voluntarily, without reflection, regardless of the con- 
sequences of her flight. And Philippe led her away, 
intoxicated with his victorj", trembling to feel her 
walk and pant at his side. 

The young man wished to hasten to Marseilles and 
procure a hackney-coach. But he was afraid to leave 
Blanche alone upon the highway, and preferred to go 
on foot with her as far as his mother’s country-house. 
They were a league away from that country-house, 
which was situated in the district of Saint- Just. 

Philippe was forced to abandon his horse, and the 
two lovers stoutly began th6ir walk. They traversed 
meadows, cultivated lands and groves of pines, striking 
across the fields and hurrying onward. It was about 
four o’clock. The sun, of a glowing yellow, threw 
before them broad sheets of light. And they hastened 
forward in the warm air, beneath the heat of the blue 
sky, urged on by the madness which w^as gnawiui: at 
their hearts. As they passed, the peasants raised tiicir 
heads and watched their flight with astonishment. 

It did not take them an hour to reach the country- 
house of Philippe’s mother. Blanche, worn out, sat 
down upon a stone bench at the door, while the young 
man went to procure a priest and send away those who 
might prove troublesome. Then he returned with the 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


25 


priest and took the young girl into his mother’s house, 
where they were married, the man of God exacting a 
solemn promise from Philippe that, as soon as the civil 
ceremony could be performed, the nuptial vows should 
be renewed in church. The priest blessed the newly- 
wedded pair and departed. Philippe had asked Ayasse, 
a gardener who was that day working for his mother, 
to go to Marseilles and find a hackney-coach. 

The two lovers were in the fever of their flight. 
While awaiting the hackney-coach, they remained 
silent and anxious. Philippe had seated Blanche in a 
little chair; kneeling before her, he gazed at her a 
long while and reassured her by gently kissing the 
hand she abandoned to him. 

“You cannot continue to wear that light dress,” 
said he, at last. “How would you like to put on 
men’s clothes ? ” 

Blanche smiled. She felt an infantile joy at the 
thought of disguising herself. 

“My brother is of short stature,” continued Philippe. 
“ You shall wear his garments.” 

It was rare sport. The young girl drew on the 
pantaloons, laughing heartily. She was charmingly 
awkward, and Philippe greedily kissed the blushes of 
her cheeks. When she was dressed, she had the air of 
a little man, a bo}^ of twelve. She had all the trouble 
in the world to keep her flood of hair in her hat, and 
her lover’s hands trembled as they tucked in the 
rebellious curls. 

Ayasse at length returned with the hackney-coach. 


26 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


He consented to receive the two fugitives at his domi- 
cile at Saint-Barnab^. Philippe took all the money he 
possessed, and the three quitted the country-house and 
entered the vehicle. 

They stopped the hackney-coach at the bridge of 
Jarre t, and went on foot to Ayasse’s dwelling. Phi- 
lippe had resolved to pass the night in this retreat. 

Twilight had come. Transparent shadows fell from 
the pale sky, and biting odors mounted from the earth, 
still warm with the sun’s last rays. Then a vague fear 
took possession of Blanche. When, in the growing 
night, in the voluptuousness of the evening, she found 
herself alone with her lover, all her terrified young 
girl’s reserve awoke, and she quivered, seized with 
an unknown dread. She abandoned herself; she was 
happy and terrified at giving herself up wholly to 
Philippe. She grew faint ; she strove to gain time. 

“ Listen,” said she : “ I wish to write to the Abb^ 

Chastanier, my confessor. He will see my uncle, will 
obtain my pardon from him and will, perhaps, induce 
him to sanction our marriage. It seems to me that I 
should tremble less had I his consent.” 

Philippe smiled at the tender innocence of the last 
remark. 

“Write to the Abb^ Chastanier,” answered he. “I 
will acquaint my brother with our retreat. He will 
come to-morrow and bear your letter.” 

Then, the night came on, lukewarm and voluptuous. 
In the sight of Heaven, Blanche was Philippe’s wife. 
She had given herself away, she had not uttered a cry 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


27 


of revolt; she had sinned through ignorance, as Phi- 
lippe had sinned through ambition and love. Ah ! 
that terrible flight ! It was destined to strike the two 
lovers with misery and give them a world of suffering 
and regret. 

It was thus that Blanche de Cazalis fled with 
Philippe Cayol one fine evening in May. 


28 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER II. 

MARIUS CAYOL. 

M arius CAYOL, the brother of Blanche’s hus- 
band was about twenty-five years of age. He was 
short, thin and of unobtrusive bearing. His yellowish 
face, pierced with long and narrow black eyes, lighted 
up at times with a good-natured smile of devotedness 
and resignation. He walked, a trifle bent, with infan- 
tile hesitation and timidity. When the hatred of evil, 
the love of right, caused him to straighten up, he 
became almost handsome. 

He had assumed all the hard tasks of the family, 
allowing his brother to obey his ambitious and impas- 
sioned instincts. He crouched beside him, saying, as 
a matter-of-course, that he was ugly and ought to 
remain in his ugliness ; he added that it was pardon- 
able in Philippe to love to display his lofty stature 
and the pronounced beauty of his visage. But, on 
occasion, he showed severity towards that grown-up 
unruly child, who was his elder and to whom he gave 
the advice and tenderness of a father. 

Their mother, a widow, was without fortune. She 
lived with difficulty on the wreck of a dowry which 
her husband had impaired in trade. This money, 
invested with a banker, gave her a small income which 


THE MYSTEHIES OF MARSEILLES. 


29 


enabled her to educate her two sons. But, when the 
children had grown up, she showed them her empty 
hands and brought them face to face with the 
struggles of life. 

The two brothers, thrown thus amid the turmoil of 
existence, urged on by their different temperaments, 
took two opposite routes. 

Philippe, who had the appetites of wealth and free- 
dom, could not bend himself to work. He wished to 
gain fortune by a single stroke; he dreamed of making 
a rich marriage. That was, in his view, an excellent 
expedient, a speedy way of acquiring an income and a 
pretty wife. Then he lived in the sunshine ; he trans- 
formed himself into a lover and even became some- 
what of a high liver. He experienced the infinite 
enjoyment of being finely dressed, of promenading in 
Marseilles his elegant rudeness, his garments of an 
original cut, and his glances and words of love. 
His mother and brother, who indulged him, strove 
to minister to his caprices. But Philippe acted in 
good faith : he adored women ; it seemed to him per- 
fectly natural to be loved and abducted some fine day 
by a noble, rich and beautiful young girl. 

Marius, while his brother was displaying his good 
looks, had entered in the capacity of clerk the estab- 
lishment of M. Martelly, a ship-owner who dwelt in 
the Rue de la Darse. He was satisfied in the gloom 
of his office ; his whole ambition consisted in gaining 
a modest competence, in living quietly and unknown. 
Besides, he felt a secret delight when he aided his 


30 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


mother or his brother. The money he made was dear 
to him, for he could give it away, make people happy 
with it and himself taste the profound bliss of devoted- 
ness. He had taken the straight road in life, the 
rugged pathway which leads to peace, joy and dignity. 

He had gone to his office when he received the let- 
ter in which his brother announced to him his flight 
and marriage with Mademoiselle de Cazalis. He was 
seized with dolorous astonishment; he sounded at a 
glance the abyss into the depths of which the two 
lovers had cast themselves. He went with the utmost 
haste to Saint-Barnab^. 

The dwelling of the gardener Ayasse had before the 
door an arbor which formed a little bower; two large 
mulberry trees, trimmed in the shape of a parasol, 
stretched out their knotty branches and threw their 
shadows upon the threshold. Marius found Philippe 
beneath the arbor, gazing with uneasiness and love at 
Blanche de Cazalis, seated beside him ; the young girl, 
already weary, was plunged in the oppression of first 
cares and first delights. 

The interview was painful, full of anguish and 
shame. Philippe had arisen. 

‘‘ Do you blame me ? ” asked he, offering his hand to 
his brother. 

“ Yes, I blame you,” answered Marius, emphatically. 
'‘You have committed a rash action. Pride has 
carried you away and love ruined you. You have 
not reflected upon the evils you are about to draw 
down upon your family and yourself.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


31 


Philippe showed signs of rebellion. 

“You are afraid/’ said he, bitterly. “I have not 
calculated ; I loved Blanche and Blanche loved me. 
I said to her: ‘Will you be my wife? — will you 
come with me?’ and she came. That’s the whole 
story. Neither of us is culpable.” 

“ Why do you tell an untruth ? ” resumed Marius, 
with greater severity. “You are not a child. You 
well know that your duty was to defend this young 
girl against herself; you should have stopped her on 
the brink of the gulf, prevented her from following 
you. Ah ! don’t talk to me of love. I know only 
justice and honor.” 

Philippe smiled disdainfully. He drew Blanche 
upon his bosom. 

“ My poor Marius,” said he, “ you are a good fel- 
low, but you have never adored a woman ; you know 
nothing of love’s fever. Behold my defence.” 

And he allowed himself to be embraced by Blanche, 
who clung to him tremblingly. The unfortunate girl 
felt that her only hope now was in this man. She had 
married him, she belonged to him ; she had followed 
him as her sovereign master. Now she adored him 
like a slave; she crawled towards him, loving and 
timid. 

Marius, in despair, comprehended that he would 
gain nothing by talking wisdom to the newly wed- 
ded couple. He resolved to act by himself ; he wished 
to know all the facts of the case. Philippe answered 
his questions with docility. 


32 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


‘‘I have been acquainted with Blanche nearly eight 
months,” said he. ‘‘I saw her for the first time at a 
public fete. She smiled at the crowd, and I thought 
her smile was addressed to me. From that day I loved 
her ; I sought every occasion to approach her, to talk 
to her.” 

Did you not write to her ? ” asked Marius. 

‘‘ Yes, many times.” 

‘‘ Where are your letters ? ” 

“ She burned them. Each time I bought a bouquet 
of Fine, the flower-girl of the Cours Saint-Louis, and 
slipped my letter among the flowers. The milkmaid 
Marguerite took the bouquets to Blanche.” 

And j^our letters remained unanswered ? ” 

“ At first, Blanche refused the dowsers. Then she 
accepted them ; at last, she replied to me. I was mad 
with love. I dreamed of marrying Blanche, of adoring 
her forever.” 

Marius shrugged his shoulders. He drew Philippe 
a few paces away and there continued the conversation 
with more firmness in his voice. 

“You are an imbecile or a liar,” said he, calmly; 
“ you know that M. de Cazalis, a deputy, a millionaire 
and the all-powerful master in Marseilles, would never 
have given his niece in marriage to Philippe Cayol, 
poor, untitled and a republican as the climax of vul- 
garity. Admit that you have counted upon the 
scandal attending your flight to force the uncle to 
give you Blanche’s hand.” 

“And what if I have ! ” responded Philippe, impet- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


33 


Tiously. “‘Blanche loves me ; I did not force her to 
act against her will. She has freely chosen me for her 
husband.” 

“Yes, 5^es, I am aware of that. You repeat it too 
often for me not to know what I should believe in the 
premises. But you have not thought of M. de Caza- 
lis’ anger; that anger will fall terribly on you and 
your family — I know the man ; this very evening he 
will have displayed his outraged pride throughout all 
Marseilles. The best thing you can do will be to take 
the 5"Oung girl back to Saint- Joseph.” 

“No, I will not, I will not. Blanche would never 
dare to return home. She was in the country scarcely 
a week; I sawlier as often as twice a day in a little 
grove of pines; we enjoyed in peace the freedom of 
the fields. Her uncle knew nothing, and the blow 
must have been severe for him. We cannot present 
ourselves at this moment.” 

“Well, listen: give me the letter for the Abb^ 
Chastanier. I will see that priest ; if necessary, I will 
go with him to M. de Cazalis. We must stifle the 
gossip. I have a task to accomplish, the task of 
repairing your error. Swear to me that you will not 
leave this house, that you will await here my orders, 
my prayers.” 

“ I promise you that I will wait, if no danger 
threatens me.” 

Marius- took Philippe’s hand and looked him squarely 
in the face. 

“Love that child well,” said he, in a deep voice, 

2 


34 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


pointing to Blanche ; “ you can never repair the injury 
you have done her.” 

He was about departing when Mademoiselle de 
Cazalis advanced. She clasped her hands suppli- 
catingly, forcing back her tears. 

“Monsieur,” stammered she, “if you see my uncle, 
tell him that I love him. I am married. I wish to 
remain Philippe’s wife and return to our house with 
him. 

Marius bowed calmly, 

“ Hope,” said he. 

And he went away, moved and troubled, knowing 
that he had deceived her and that hope was out of the 
question. 


THE MYSTEHTES OF MAESEILLFS. 


35 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ABBE CHASTANIER. 

M arius, on arriving at Marseilles, hastened to the 
Saint-Victor Church to which the Abbd Chasta- 
nier was attached. Saint-Victor is one of the oldest 
churches in Marseilles ; its black, lofty and embattled 
walls make it look like a fortress; one might think 
that it was fashioned entirely with ax strokes by the 
rude people of the port, who have a special veneration 
for it. 

The young man found the Abbd Chastanier in the 
sacristy. This priest was a tall old man, with a long, 
thin face as white as wax ; his sad and humble eyes 
had the vague fixedness of suffering and poverty. He 
had returned from a burial and was slowly removing 
his surplice. 

His history was brief and sorrowful. The son of 
peasants, as mild and innocent as a child, he had 
taken holy orders, urged on by his mother’s pious 
wishes. In becoming a priest, he had wished to per- 
form an act of humility, of entire devotion. He 
believed, in the simplicity of his soul, that a minis- 
ter of God ought to shut himself up in the infinitude 
of the divine love, renounce the ambition and intrigues 
of this world and live in the depths of a sanctuary, 


36 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


pardoning sins with one hand and distributing alms 
with the other. 

Ah ! the poor abb^ ! They showed him that simple 
souls are good only to suffer and remain in the shade ! 
He soon learned that ambition is a sacerdotal virtue, 
and that young priests frequently love God for the 
worldly favors distributed by His church. He saw all 
his seminary comrades use their nails and teeth, and 
tear off here and there strips of silk and lace. He wit- 
nessed these private struggles, these secret intrigues, 
which make a diocese a little turbulent kingdom. As 
he remained humbly upon his knees, did not seek to 
please the ladies, demanded nothing and appeared stu- 
pidly pious, they threw him a miserable benefice as one 
casts a bone to a dog. 

He remained thus more than forty years in a small 
village, situated between Aubagne and Cassis. His 
church was a sort of barn, whitewashed and glacially 
bare ; in the winter, when the wind broke one of the 
window panes, the good God was cold for many weeks, 
as the poor cur^ did not always possess the few sous 
required to restore the glass. But he never com- 
plained; he lived peacefully in poverty and solitude; 
he even felt a deep joy in suffering, in feeling himself 
the brother of the beggars of his parish. 

He was sixty when one of his sisters, who was a 
workwoman at Marseilles, grew infirm. She wrote to 
him and begged him to come to her. The old priest 
devoted himself so far as to ask his bishop for a little 
corner in one of the city churches. He was kept wait- 


THE MYSTERIES OP MARSEILLES. 


37 


ing for this little corner several months, and finally 
was called to Saint-Victor. He was destined to do 
there, so to speak, all the heavy work, all the labors 
to which but little fame and profit were attached. He 
prayed over the coffins of the poor and took them to 
the cemetery; he even served as sexton upon occasion. 

It was then that he began to suffer in earnest. 
While in his desert, he had been allowed to be simple, 
poor and old at his ease. Now, he felt that his poverty 
and innocence were considered a crime, and his heart 
was torn when he comprehended that there could be 
servants in the church. He saw plainly that he was 
looked upon with derision and pity. He bowed his 
head still lower, made himself more humble and wept 
to feel his faith shaken by the acts and words of the 
worldly priests who surrounded him. 

Happily, in the evening, he had comfortable hours. 
He took care of his sister ; he consoled himself in his 
way by devoting himself. He surrounded the poor 
infirm woman with a thousand little satisfactions. He 
took refuge beside her and lost himself in his tender-^ 
ness. Then another joy came to him : M. de Cazalis, 
who distrusted young abbes, chose him to be the direc- 
tor of his niece. The old priest had hitherto taken 
charge of no penitent and very rarely confessed any 
one ; he was moved to tears by the proposition of the 
deputy and questioned him; he loved Blanche as if 
she had been his own child. 

Marius gave him the young girl’s letter and watched 
his face to see what emotions that letter would excite 


38 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


ill him. He saw keen grief paint itself there. But 
the priest did not seem to experience that stupor 
caused by overwhelming and unexpected news, and 
Marius thought that Blanche, in confessing herself to 
him, had avowed the relations existing between her 
and Philippe. 

“ You have done well to count upon me, Monsieur,” 
said the Abb^ Chastanier to Marius. ‘‘ But I am very 
weak and awkward. I should have shown more 
energy.” 

The head and hands of the poor man had that gentle 
and sad trembling peculiar to old people. 

‘‘ I am at your disposal,” continued he. “ How can 
I aid the unhappy child ? ” 

“Monsieur,” answered Marius, “I am the brother 
of the young fool who has fled with and wedded 
Mademoiselle de Cazalis, and I have sworn to repair 
the error, to stifle the talk. Will you unite with me? 
The young girl is lost if her uncle has already handed 
the case over to justice. Go to him, try to quiet his 
anger and tell him his niece is about to be restored 
to him.” 

“Why did you not bring the child with you? I 
know the violence of M. de Cazalis ; he will desire 
certainties.” 

“ It is that very violence which has frightened my 
brother. But we cannot reason now. The facts 
accomplished overwhelm us. Rest assured that I am 
as indignant as you are, and that I fully realize my 
brother’s wretched action. But, in mercy, let us 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


39 


hasten. Afterwards, we will speak of justice and 
right.” 

“It is well,” said the abbd, simply. “I will go 
with you.” 

They passed along the Boulevard de la Corderie and 
reached the Cours Bonaparte, where was situated the 
deputy’s city residence. M. de Cazalis, the day 
after the flight, had returned to Marseilles, in the 
morning, a prey to terrible anger and despair. 

The Abb^ Chastanier stopped Marius at the door of 
the house. 

“Do not enter,” said he. “Your visit might, per- 
haps, be regarded as an insult. Let me act and wait 
for me.” 

Marius, for a whole hour, walked the pavement 
excitedly. He would have preferred to enter, explain 
the facts himself and ask pardon in Philippe’s name. 
But, while the misfortune of his family was being 
agitated in that house, he was forced to remain where 
he was, idle and impatient, in all the anguish of 
waiting. 

At last the Abbe Chastanier appeared. He had 
been weeping ; his eyes were red, his lips quivering. 

“ M. de Cazalis would listen to nothing,” said he, 
in a troubled voice. “ I found him in a blind rage. 
He has already been to the Procureur du Roi.” 

What the poor priest did not say was that M. de 
Cazalis received him with the bitterest reproaches, 
venting his anger upon him and accusing him, in 
his furyj'^of having given evil counsel to his niece. 


40 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


The abbe bent before him ; he almost went upon his 
knees, not defending himself, but asking pity fox 
others. 

“ Tell me all,” cried Marius, in despair. 

“ It seems,” replied the priest, that the peasant 
with whom your brother left his horse guided M. de 
Cazalis in his investigations. This morning a com- 
plaint was made, and searches have been instituted at 
your residence in the Hue Sainte and at your mother’s 
country-house in the district of Saint-Just.” 

‘‘ My God ! my God ! ” groaned Marius. 

“ M. de Cazalis swears that he will crush your fam- 
ily. I vainly strove to bring him to more merciful 
feelings. He talks of arresting your mother.” 

‘‘ My mother ! Why ? ” 

He claims that she is an accomplice, that she aided 
your brother to abduct Mademoiselle Blanche.” 

‘‘What is to be done — how is the falsity of all this 
to be proven? Ah! wretched Philippe I This will 
cause our mother’s death.” 

And Marius began to sob in his clasped hands. The 
Abbd Chastanier saw his despair with affecting pity ; 
he understood the tenderness and integrity of this 
poor fellow who wept in the open street. 

. “ Courage, my child,” said he. 

“You are right, father,” cried Marius; “it is cour- 
age that I must have. I was a coward this morning. 
I should have torn the young girl from Philippe’s 
arms and brought her back to her uncle. A voice told 
me to do this act of justice, and I am punished for 


THE MYSTERIES OP MARSEILLES. 


41 


not having heeded that voice. They spoke to me of 
their love and marriage. I allowed myself to be 
softened.” 

They were silent for a moment. 

“Listen,” said Marius, suddenly: “come with me — 
we two will have sufficient strength to separate them.” 

“ So be it,” answered the Abbe Chastanier. 

And, without even thinking to take a carriage, they 
followed the Rue Breteuil, the Quai du Canal, the 
Quai Napoleon, and ascended the Cannebiere. They 
walked with rapid strides, without speaking. 

As they reached the Cours Saint-Louis, a clear voice 
made them turn their heads. It was Fine, the flower- 
girl, who was calling Marius. 

Josephine Cougourdan, who was called familiarly by 
the caressing diminutive of Fine, was one of those 
dark children of Marseilles, short and plump, whose 
fine and regular features have preserved all the deli- 
cate purity of the Greek type. Her round head rose 
above slightly sloping shoulders; her pale face between 
the bands of her black hair expressed a sort of dis- 
dainful mockery; there was a passionate energy in her 
great sombre eyes which a smile now and then soft- 
ened. She might have been from twenty-two to 
twenty-four years old. 

At fifteen she had been left an orphan, burdened 
with the support of a brother not more than ten. She 
had stoutly continued her mother’s trade, and, three 
days after the funeral, still all in tears, was seated in a 
kiosk of the Cours Saint-Louis, making and selling 
bouquets as she uttered heavy sighs. 


42 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


The little flower-girl soon became the spoiled child 
of Marseilles. She had the popularity of youth and 
grace. Her flowers, people said, had a sweeter and 
more penetrating perfume than others. The gallants 
thronged about her ; she sold them her roses, her vio- 
lets and her pinks. Thus she was enabled to bring 
up her brother Cadet and place him, at the age of 
eighteen, in the employ of a master porter. 

The two young folks dwelt upon the Place aux 
OEufs, in the heart of the popular quarter. Cadet 
was now a tall fellow who worked on the wharves; 
Fine, developed, embellished and become a woman, 
had the lively manners and nonchalant cajolery of the 
Marseillaises, and reigned, by virtue of her beauty, 
over all the girls of the people, her companions. 

She knew the Cayols from having sold them flow- 
ers, and spoke to them with that tender familiarity 
imparted by the warm air and the soft dialect of 
Provence. Besides, if all must be told, Philippe of 
late had so frequently bought roses of her that at last 
she had grown to feel little thrills in his presence. 
The young man, a lover by instinct, laughed with her, 
stared at her so intently as to make her blush and 
threw her a fragment of a decUjation as he passed, 
all this that he might not lose the habit of loving. 
And the poor child, who until then had terribly mal- 
treated lovers, allowed herself to be caught by this 
game. At night she dreamed of Philippe; she asked 
herself with anguish where all the flowers she sold 
him could go to. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


43 


When Marius stepped up to her, he found her 
blushing and troubled. She was half hidden behind 
her bouquets. She looked adorably fresh beneath 
the large lappets of her little lace cap. 

“ Monsieur Marius,” said she, in a hesitating voice, 
“ is it true that your brother has fled with a young 
lady, as they have been repeating around me since 
morning? ” 

Who says that ? ” asked Marius, quickly. 

‘‘Everybody. It is the general talk.” 

As the young man seemed to be as much troubled 
as she and as he remained silent, Fine continued, with 
a slight bitterness : 

“I have often been told that M. Philippe was 
inconstant. He spoke too sweetly not to lie.” 

She was on the point of weeping, but forced back 
her tears. Then, with dolorous resignation, she added, 
in a milder tone : 

“ I see clearly that you are in trouble. If you have 
need of me, come to me.” 

Marius looked her in the face and thought he 
understood the anguish of her heart. 

“You are a good girl,” cried he. “I thank you 
and, perhaps, may accept your services.” 

He gave her hand a strong grasp, as he would have 
done with a comrade, and hastened to rejoin the AbbI 
Chastanier, who was waiting for him on the edge of 
the sidewalk. 

“We have no time to lose,” said he to the priest. 
“The rumor of the flight is spreading throughout 
Marseilles. Let us take a hackney-coach.” 


44 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


It was night when they arrived at St.-Barnab^. 
They found only the wife of the gardener Ayasse, 
knitting in a low room. This woman tranquilly 
informed them that the gentleman and the young lady 
had grown afraid and departed on foot in the direction 
of Aix. She added that they had taken her son to 
act as their guide among the hills. 

So the last hope was destroyed. Marius, over- 
whelmed, returned to Marseilles, without hearing the 
Abb^ Chastanier’s words of encouragement. He 
was thinking of the fatal consequences of Philippe’s 
folly; he was protesting against the misfortunes which 
threatened his family. 

“ My child,” said the priest on quitting him, “ I am 
but a poor man. Dispose of me. I am going to 
pray.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


45 


CHAPTER IV. 


HOW M. DE CAZALIS AVENGED HIS 

niece’s runaway. 

r HE lovers had fled on Wednesday. The following 



A. Friday all Marseilles knev/ of the affair ; the 
babbling women at the doors ornamented the recital 
with the most unheard-of commentaries ; the nobility 
were indignant and the citizens made merry over the 
matter. M. de Cazalis, in his rage, had neglected noth- 
ing to augment the noise and make of his niece’s flight 
a frightful scandal. 

Clear-sighted people easily guessed the reason of all 
this anger. M. de Cazalis, deputy of the opposition, 
had been named at Marseilles by a majority composed 
of republicans, priests and nobles. Devoted to the 
legitimist cause, bearing one of the most ancient 
names of Provence, and bowing humbly before the 
all-powerful influence of the church, he had felt deep 
repugnance at flattering the liberals and at accepting 
their voices. These people, in his view, were clowns 
and servants who ought to be whipped in public. His 
indomitable pride suffered at the thought of descending 
to their level. 

He was, however, forced to submit. The republicans 
placed a high value on their services ; once, as a show 


46 TTTK MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

of disdaining their aid was made, they spoke of embar- 
rassing the election, of causing one of their own 
number to be named. M. de Cazalis, driven by the 
circumstances of the case, shut up all his hatred in the 
depths of his heart, promising himself to be avenged 
some day. Then ensued shameful intrigues; the 
clergj^ took the field, votes were snatched right and 
left, and, thanks to a thousand reverences and a 
thousand promises, M. de Cazalis was elected. 

And now Philippe Cayol, one of the chiefs of the 
liberal party, had fallen into his hands. At last he 
could satisfy his hatred upon one of those clowns who 
had bargained with him for his election. This man 
should pay for all ; his family should be ruined and 
crushed ; and, as for him, he should be cast into prison, 
he should be precipitated from the height of his dream 
of love upon the straw of a dungeon. 

What ! a common citizen had dared to let himself 
be loved by the niece of a Cazalis ! He had borne her 
away with him, and now they were running about 
the highways, playing love’s truant. It was a fact 
that should be made widely known. A man without 
standing would, perhaps, have preferred to stifle the 
matter, conceal the deplorable circumstance as much 
as possible, but a Cazalis, a deputy and a millionaire, 
had enough influence and pride to cry aloud, without 
blushing, the shame of his family. 

What mattered the fate of a young girl ! Every- 
body might know that Blanche de Cazalis had been 
the friend of Philippe Cayol, but nobody, at all events, 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


47 


should say that she was his wife, that she had made a 
mesalliance by marrying a poor devil without a title. 
Pride desired that the child should remain disgraced 
and that her disgrace should be placarded upon the 
walls of Marseilles. 

M. de Cazalis caused to be posted at the corners of 
the city streets bills in which he promised a reward of 
ten thousand francs to whoever should bring him his 
niece and Philippe bound hand and foot. When one 
loses a blooded dog, one advertises it thus by means 
of posters. 

Among the high classes the matter was noised about 
with still greater violence. M. de Cazalis exhibited his 
fury everywhere. He called into requisition all the 
influence of his friends the priests and nobles. As 
the guardian of Blanche, who was an orphan and 
whose fortune he had charge of, he stimulated the 
investigations of justice and made preparations for the 
criminal trial. He appeared to be making every effort 
to give the greatest publicity possible to the free 
spectacle which was on the eve of commencing. 

One of the first steps taken by M. de Cazalis had 
been to cause the arrest of Philippe Cayol’s mother. 
When the Procureur du Roi presented himself at her 
house, the poor woman’s only answer to all his ques- 
tions was that she knew not what had become of her 
son. Her trouble, her anguish and her maternal fears, 
which made her hesitate, were considered as proofs of 
complicity. They imprisoned her, seeing in her a 
hostage and hoping, perhaps, that her son would 
deliver himself up to free her. 


48 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

At the news of his mother’s arrest, Marius was 
driven wild. He knew that her health was not good, 
and his terrified imagination pictured her in the depths 
of a bare and icy cell ; she would die there ; she would 
be tortured there by all the anguish of misery and 
despair. 

Marius was himself disturbed for a moment; but 
his firm responses and the bail his emploj^er, the ship- 
owner Martelly, offered to enter for him saved him 
from imprisonment. He wished to remain free to 
work for the safety of his family. 

Little by little, his just mind saw the facts clearly. 
At first, he had been overwhelmed by Philippe’s cul- 
pability and had distinguished only his brother’s irre- 
parable error ; then he had humbled himself, thinking 
soleh" of calming Blanche’s uncle and giving him every 
possible satisfaction. 

But before the rigor of M. de Cazalis, before the 
gossip which roused his indignation, Marius had 
revolted. He had seen the fugitives, he knew that 
Blanche had followed Philippe of her own free will 
and he was enraged to hear his brother accused of 
abduction. Abuse was poured into his ear: Philippe 
was called a scoundrel and a wretch ; his mother expe- 
rienced no better treatment. At length, the knowl- 
edge of the truth forced him to defend the lovers, to 
take the part of the culprits against justice itself. 

Besides, M. de Cazalis’ noisy complaints disgusted 
him. He said that genuine grief was more silent, and 
that an affair in which a young girl’s fate was at 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


49 


stake did not empty itself thus in the public street. 
And he said this, not because he desired to see his 
brother escape punishment, but because his delicacy 
was hurt by all this publicity given to a child’s mis- 
fortune. Further, he fully understood the aim of M. 
de Cazalis’ anger: in striking Philippe, the deputy 
w^ould strike the clown and the republican, rather than 
the abductor. 

Thus Marius grew angry in his turn. They insulted 
him through his family, they imprisoned his mother, 
they tracked his brother like a wild beast, they dragged 
his dearest affections in the mud and accused them in 
bad faith and passion. Then, he rose up. The cul- 
prit was no longer only the ambitious lover who had 
fled with a rich young girl, the culprit was also the 
man who had aroused Marseilles, and who was about 
to use his overwhelming power to gratify his pride. 
Since justice charged itself with punishing the first, 
Marius swore that he would punish the second sooner 
or later, and that, while awaiting vengeance, he would 
embarrass his projects and strive to neutralize his 
influence as a wealthy and titled man. 

From that moment, he displayed a feverish energy; 
he devoted himself wholly to the safety of his brother 
and his mother. The worst of it was that he could 
not discover what had become of Philippe. Two days 
after the flight, he had received a letter from him, in 
which the fugitive begged him to send him a thousand 
francs to supply the necessities of travel. This letter 
was dated at Lambesc. 

3 


50 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Philippe had found hospitality there for a few days 
at the house of M. de Girousse, an old friend of his 
family. M. de Girousse, the son of a former member 
of the Parliament of Aix, was born in the midst of 
revolution ; from his first breath, he had inhaled the 
burning air of ’93, and his blood had always retained 
a little of the revolutionary fever. He was ill at ease 
in his hotel, situated upon the Cours at Aix ; the 
nobility of that town seemed to him to have such 
outrageous pride and such deplorable inertia that he 
had passed a harsh judgment on them and preferred to 
live far from them ; his equitable mind and his love of 
justice and toil had compelled him to accept the fatal 
march of the times, and he had freely offered his hand 
to the people, he had accommodated himself to the 
new tendencies of modern society ; he had dreamed 
for an instant of establishing a manufactory and giv- 
ing up his title of comte to assume the title of artisan. 
He felt that there was no longer any nobility but the 
nobility of toil and talent. Hence he preferred to live 
alone, removed from his equals ; he inhabited, for the 
greater part of the year, a property he owned near the 
little town of Lambesc. It was there that he received 
the fugitives. 

Marius was disheartened by Philippe’s demand. His 
savings did not amount to six hundred francs. He 
went among his friends and strove vainly for two days 
to borrow the rest of the sum asked for. 

As he was despairing one morning, he saw Fine 
enter his apartment. He had confided, the day before, 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


51 


his trouble to the 3"Oung girl, whom, since Philippe’s 
flight, he met everywhere upon his path. She inces- 
santly asked him for news of his brother, and always 
wanted to know if the young lady was still with him. 

Fine placed five hundred francs on a table. 

“ There,” said she, blushing. You can return it 
to me later. It is some money I put aside to redeem 
m}' brother in case he should be drawn as a conscript.’’ 

Marius declined to accept. 

“You are making me lose time,” resumed the young 
girl, with charming roughness. “I must return imme- 
diately to my bouquets. But, if you will permit me, 
I will come every morning to ask you the news.” 

And she ran away. Marius sent the thousand 
francs. Then he learned nothing further; he lived 
for two whole weeks in complete ignorance of what 
was taking place. He knew that they were tracking 
Philippe more eagerly than ever, and that was all. He 
paid no attention to the grotesque or frightful rumors 
current on the streets. He had enough terrors of his 
own, without allowing himself to be frightened by the 
gossip of a city. 

Never had he suffered so much. Anxiety filled his 
mind almost to bursting ; the slightest sound terrified 
him ; he listened constantly, as if he expected to hear 
bad news. He learned that Philippe had been to 
Toulon and had narrowly escaped arrest there. The 
fugitives, the report said, had afterwards returned to 
Aix. There all trace of them was lost; had they 
attempted to cross the frontier, or, were they hidden 
among the hills ? No one knew. 


52 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Marius was the more disturbed because he had been 
forced to neglect his work at the office of the ship- 
owner Martelly. If he had not considered himself 
nailed to his desk by duty, he would have hastened to 
Philippe’s aid and personally looked after his safety. 
But he dared not quit a house where he was so much 
needed. M. Martelly showed a sympathy for him 
altogether paternal. A widower for some years, liv- 
ing with one of his sisters aged twenty-three, he 
regarded him as a son. The day after M. de Cazalis 
had set afloat the gossip, the ship-owner called Marius 
into his private office. 

‘‘Ah! my friend,” said he, “this is a very sad 
affair. Your brother is lost. We are not powerful 
enough to save him from the terrible consequences of 
his folly.” 

M. Martelly belonged to the liberal party and was 
even distinguished in its ranks for a violence altogether 
southern. He had had differences with M. de Cazalis ; 
he knew the man. His lofty probity and immense for- 
tune placed him out of reach of an attack; but his 
liberalism was of a stately kind; he took a sort of 
pride in never using his power. He advised Marius 
to remain quiet and await events ; he would second 
him with all his might when the struggle had com- 
menced. 

Marius, who was burning with excitement, was about 
resolving to ask leave-of-absence of his employer, 
when Fine, one morning, ran into his chamber, all in 
tears. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


53 


“Monsieur Philippe is arrested!” cried she, sobbing. 
“ They found him, with the young lady, in a country- 
house in the Ti’ois-bons-Dieux district, a league from 
Aix.” 

And as Marius, full of trouble, hastily rushed away 
to obtain confirmation of the news, which was true, 
Fine, still bathed in tears, smiled sadly and said, in a 
low voice : 

“ At least, the young lady is no longer with him I ” 


54 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR. 

B lanche and Phllippe quitted the house of the 
gardener Aj^asse at twilight, towards half-past 
seven o’clock. During the day they had seen gen- 
darmes upon the highway; they were told that they 
w^ould be arrested in the evening, and fear drove them 
from their first retreat. Philippe put on a peasant’s 
blouse. Blanche borrowed the costume of a girl of 
the people from the gardener’s wife : a dress of figured 
red calico and a pink apron ; she covered her bosom 
with a yellow check fichu, and placed over her cap a 
large coarse straw hat. The gardener’s son Victor, a 
lad of fifteen, accompanied them to guide them across 
the fields to the Aix highway. 

The evening was warmish, with an occasional chill. 
Warm and biting exhalations arose from the ground 
and rendered languid the fresh breeze which came at 
times from the Mediterranean. In the west still lin- 
gered the glow as of a conflagration ; the rest of the 
sky, of a sombre blue, was paling little by little, and 
the stars came out one by one in the darkness, like the 
trembling lights of a distant town. 

The fugitives walked rapidly, with lowered heads, 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


55 


without exchanging a word. They were in haste to 
reach the desert of the hills. While they were trav- 
ersing the outskirts of Marseilles, they met rare passers 
whom they glanced at with mistrust. Then the broad 
country spread out before them, and they saw only, 
here and there, at the sides of the paths, grave and 
motionless shepherds in the midst of their flocks. 

And, ill the gloom, in the soft silence of the serene 
night, they continued to flee. Vague sighs floated 
about them ; stones rolled beneath their feet with 
sharp sounds. The slumbering country quivered and 
extended, all black, in the lugubrious monotony of 
the darkness. Blanche, vaguely terrified, clung to 
Philippe, quickening her pace that she might not be 
left behind ; she uttered heavy sighs, as she recalled 
the peaceful nights of her girlhood. 

Then came the hills and deep gorges to be crossed. 
Around Marseilles, the roads are level and pleasant; 
but, further inland, one encounters those piles of rocks 
which cut the entire centre of Provence into narrow 
and sterile valleys. Uncultivated heaths and stony 
hills, sown with thin clusters of thyme and lavender, 
now stretched before the fugitives in their sad desola- 
tion. The paths ascended and descended along the 
hills ; fragments of rock encumbered the roads ; 
beneath the bluish serenity of the sk}^, the scene 
resembled a sea of flint, an ocean of stone, stricken 
with eternal immobility in the midst of a hurricane. 

Victor, on the lead, softly whistled a Provencal air, 
as he leaped over the rocks with the agility of a 


56 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


chamois; he had grown from infancj^ in this desert 
and knew every corner of it. Blanche and Philippe 
followed him toilsomely; the young man half carried 
his companion, whose feet were bruised by the sharp 
stones of the road. She did not complain, and, when 
Philippe looked interrogatively into her face in the 
transparent gloom, she smiled upon him with a sad 
gentleness. 

They had just passed SeptSmes, when the worn out 
young girl fell to the ground. The moon, which was 
slowly ascending the heavens, displayed her pale 
visage, bathed in tears. Philippe bent over her with 
anguish. 

‘^You are weeping,” cried he; ‘^you are suffering, 
my poor, beloved child. Ah ! I am a wretch, am I 
not, to keep you thus with me ? ” 

“Do not say that, Philippe,” responded Blanche. 
“I weep because I am an unhappy girl. See, I can 
scarcely walk. We would have done better to kneel 
before my uncle and pray to him with clasped hands.” 

She made an effort and arose, and they continued 
their walk through that terrible region. It was not 
the wild and gay escapade of a couple of lovers: it 
was a sombre flight, full of anxiety and suffering, the 
flight of two trembling and silent culprits. 

They traversed the territory of Gardanne, and 
stumbled for nearly five hours over the obstacles of 
the path. They finally decided to descend to the Aix 
highway, and there they advanced with less difficulty, 
but the dust blinded them. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


57 


When they were at the top of the rising ground of 
the Arc, they dismissed Victor. Blanche had travelled 
six leagues on foot, among the rocks, in less than six 
hours; she seated herself upon a stone bench at the 
gate of the town, and declared that she could go no 
further. Philippe, who was afraid of being arrested 
if he remained at Aix, went in quest of a carriage ; he 
found a woman seated in a cart, who consented to take 
Blanche and himself and conduct them to Lambesc, 
where she was going. 

Blanche, despite the jolts, was soon in a deep slum- 
ber and did not awake until they reached the gate of 
Lambesc. This sleep calmed her blood; she felt rested 
and stronger. The two lovers quitted the vehicle. 
The dawn came, a fresh and radiant dawn which 
filled them with hope. All the phantoms of the night 
were gone ; the fugitives had forgotten the rocks of 
SeptSmes, and walked side by side in the wet grass, 
intoxicated with their youth and their love. 

Not having found M. de Girousse, of whom Philippe 
had resolved to ask hospitality, they went to the inn, 
and at last enjoyed a day of peace and quietude. The 
inn-keeper, thinking that his guests were brother and 
sister, proposed to prepare two apartments. Blanche 
smiled; she had now the courage inspired by ten- 
derness. 

“One room will do,” said she. “Monsieur is my 
husband.” 

The following day Philippe went to M. de Girousse, 
who had returned. He told him everything and 
asked his advice. 


58 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


‘‘The deuce!” cried the old noble, “your case is 
grave. You know that you are a clown; a century 
ago, M. de Cazalis would have had you hanged for 
having dared to touch his niece ; to-day, he can only 
have you cast into prison. Rest assured that he will 
not fail to do it.” 

“ What must I do?” 

“ What must you do ? Send back the young girl to 
her uncle and gain the frontier as soon as possible.” 

“You are well aware that I will never do that.” 

“ Then, quietly await your arrest. ^ I have no other 
counsel to give you.” 

M. de Girousse had a friendly bluntness which hid 
the best heart in the world. As Philippe, confused by 
the roi^ghness of his reception, was about to depart, he 
recalled him, and, taking his hand : 

“My duty,” resumed he, with a slight bitterness, “is 
to have you arrested. I belong to the nobility you 
have outraged. Listen: I have, on the other side of 
Lambesc, a small, unoccupied house, the key of which 
I will give you. Go conceal yourselves there, but say 
nothing to me about it; otherwise, I shall send the 
gendarmes after you.” 

The lovers remained over a week at Lambesc. They 
lived there in retirement, in the enjoyment of peace 
which was at times broken by sudden fears. Philippe 
had received the thousand francs from Marius. Blanche 
became a little housekeeper, and the twain ate with 
delight from the same plate. 

This new existence seemed like a dream to the 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


59 


young girl. Occasionally she grew dissatisfied, and 
longed to return to her uncleV home but she was 
afraid to speak of this ; she felt that she was weak 
and alone ; she had accepted the flight and lacked the 
courage to retrace her steps. 

It was the octave of the Fete-Dieu. One afternoon, 
as Blanche stood at the window, she saw a procession 
pass. She knelt and clasped her hands. The young 
maidens, clad in white, sang in joyous tones, bearing 
in their midst the banner of the Virgin. At this sight 
the poor child began to sob ; she imagined herself in 
a snowy robe, among the singers, and her heart bled 
when she realized that she was a fugitive. 

That evening, Philippe received an anonymous note. 
It warned him that he would be arrested on the follow- 
ing day. He thought he recognized M. de Girousse’s 
handwriting. Then the flight was renewed ; it was 
harder to bear and more wretched than before. 


60 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER VI. 

HUNTED DOWN. 

I T was a bewildering confusion, a flight without 
intermission or repose, an incessant terror. Driven 
right and left by their fright, constantly thinking they 
heard behind them the gallop of horses, passing the 
nights running about the highways and the days trem- 
bling in the filthy chambers of inns, the fugitives 
traversed Provence many times, hurrying forward and 
retracing their steps, not knowing where to find an 
unknown retreat, hidden in the midst of some desert. 

They quitted Lambesc on a terribly windy night and 
went towards Avignon. They had hired a little cart; 
the blast blinded the horse, and Blanche shivered in 
her miserable calico dress. As the climax of misfor- 
tune, they thought they saw in the distance, at one of 
the gates of the town, some gendarmes who were 
scanning the faces of the passers. Terrified, they 
turned about and went back to Lambesc, through 
which they merely passed. 

They reached Aix, but were afraid to remain there; 
they resolved to gain the frontier, cost what it might. 
There they would procure a passport and find safety. 
Philippe, who was acquainted with a druggist at 


THE MYSTEHIES OF MARSEILLES. 


61 


Toulon, decided that they would go by way of that 
city ; he hoped that his friend would facilitate their 
flight. 

The druggist, a burly, jovial fellow named Jourdan, 
gave them a hearty welcome. He concealed them in 
his own chamber, and said he would at once endeavor 
to get them a passport. 

Jourdan had barely left the house when two gen- 
darmes presented themselves. 

Blanche nearly fainted ; pale, seated in a corner, she 
restrained her sobs. Philippe, in a choking voice, 
asked the gendarmes what they wanted. 

‘‘Are you the Sieur Jourdan?” demanded one of 
them, with ill-omened harshness. 

“No,” answered the young man. “ M. Jourdan has 
gone out, but he will soon return.” 

“Very good,” said the gendarme, coldly. 

And he sat down, heavily. The poor fugitives 
were afraid to look at each other; they were full of 
terror; they felt unspeakable uneasiness in the pres- 
ence of these men who had, without doubt, come to 
seek them. Their torture lasted half an hour. At 
length Jourdan returned; he grew pale on seeing the 
gendarmes and answered their questions with inex- 
pressible confusion. 

“You must come with us,” said one of the men to 
him. 

“ Why ? ” asked Jourdan. “ What have I done ? ” 

“You are accused of having cheated at cards, last 
evening, at a club. You will have to explain matters 
to the Juge d’ Instruction.” 


62 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


A shiver of terror shook Jourdan. His face looked 
like that of a corpse. He seemed utterly overwhelmed, 
and, with the docility of a child, followed the gen- 
darmes, who withdrew without even noticing the fright 
of Blanche and Philippe. 

The Jourdan case, at that time, caused a great sensa- 
tion in Toulon ; but no one knew of the private and 
poignant scene which had taken place at the druggist’s 
house on the day of his arrest. 

This scene discouraged Philippe. He realized that 
he was too weak to escape from that human justice 
which was tracking him. Besides, he now no longer 
hoped to procure a passport and could not cross the 
frontier. Further, it was plain to him that Blanche 
had begun to be weary. He resolved, therefore, to 
approach Marseilles and wait, in the vicinity of that 
city, until M. de Cazalis’ anger had somewhat abated. 
Like all those in utter despair, he entertained at 
certain moments ridiculous hopes of pardon and 
happiness. 

Philippe had at Aix a relative named Isnard, who 
kept a mercer’s shop. The fugitives, no longer know- 
ing at what door to knock, returned to Aix to ask 
Isnard for the key of one of his country-houses. Mis- 
fortune pursued them : they did not find the mercer at 
home, and were obliged to hide in an old dwelling on 
the Cours Sextius, with a cousin of M. de Girousse’s 
farmer. This woman hesitated to receive them, fearing 
lest, later, her hospitality should be considered a crime; 
she yielded only when Philippe swore to have her son 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


63 


exempted from military service. The young man was, 
doubtless, in one of his hopeful hours ; he already saw 
himself the nephew of a deputy and made full use of 
his uncle’s power. 

In the evening Isnard visited the lovers, and gave 
them the key of a country-house he possessed on the 
plain of Puyricard. He owned two besides this: one 
at Tholonet and the other in the Trois-bons-Dieux 
district. The keys of these were hidden under certain 
huge stones which he described to them. He advised 
them not to sleep two nights in succession beneath the 
same roof, and promised them that he would make 
every effort to keep the track of the police. 

The lovers departed and took the road which passes 
beside the Hopital. 

Isnard’s country-house was situated to the right of 
Puyricard, between the village and the Venelles high- 
way. It was one of those hideous little huts built of 
lime and stones heaped upon each other and adorned 
with red tiles ; there was but a single apartment in it, 
a sort of filthy stable ; remnants of straw were scat- 
tered about the floor and huge spider-webs hung from 
the ceiling. 

Philippe and Blanche fortunately had a blanket. 
They collected the remnants of straw in a corner and 
spread the blanket over the heap. They passed the 
night amid the biting exhalations of dampness. 

On the morrow they spent the day in the bed of the 
dried-up torrent of Touloubre. Then, towards even- 
ing, they took the Venelles highway, made a circuit to 


64 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


avoid passing through Aix, and reached Tholonet. At 
eleven o’clock they arrived at the country-house which 
the mercer possessed below the Oratoire des J^suites. 

This hut was more comfortable than the other. It 
had two apartments, a kitchen and a dining-room ; in 
the latter was a bed of spun-yarn ; the walls were 
covered with caricatures cut from the Charivari, and 
strings of onions were suspended from the white- 
washed beams. The two lovers thought themselves 
in a palace. 

When they awoke in the morning, fear again seized 
upon them ; they climbed the hill and remained until 
night in the gorges of the Internets. At that period 
the precipices of Jaumegarde yet preserved all their 
sinister horror; the Zola canal had not pierced the 
mountain, and the fugitives did not venture into that 
gloomy tunnel of reddish rocks. Blanche and Philippe 
tasted profound peace in the midst ef this desert ; they 
reposed for a long while beside a spring which gushed, 
limpid and gurgling, from a gigantic block of stone. 

With the night returned the cruel necessity of find- 
ing a shelter. Blanche could scarcely walk; her 
wounded feet bled on the pointed and sharp flints. 
Philippe knew that he could not take her far. He 
supported her, and slowly they ascended to the plateau 
which overlooks the Internets. There stretched out 
uncultivated plains, vast fields of stones and vague 
territory hollowed out here and there by abandoned 
quarries. There is nothing so strangely sinister as 
that broad landscape with horizons of mournful ampli- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


65 


tude, spotted now and again with low and dark ver- 
dure ; the rocks, like broken limbs, pierce the barren 
soil ; the plain, humped together, seems to have been 
stricken with death amid the convulsions of frightful 
agony. 

Philippe hoped to discover a den, a cavern. He had 
the good fortune to come across a station, one of those 
little huts in which hunters conceal themselves to wait 
for the birds of passage. He broke open the door of 
the cabin without the least scruple, and seated Blanche 
on a small bench which he felt beneath his hand. 
Then he went to pull up a large quantity of thyme ; 
the plateau was covered with that humble gray plant, 
the biting odor of which clings to all the hills of 
Provence. 

Philippe heaped the thyme in the station and made 
of it thus a sort of straw bed, spreading the blanket 
upon it. 

And the two lovers, upon that miserable couch, gave 
each other the evening kiss. Ah ! what meek suffer- 
ing and bitter delight that kiss contained ! 

Philippe’s love had become madness. Incessantly 
obliged to flee, menaced in his dreams of wealth, 
beneath the blow of an implacable chastisement, the 
young man rebelled and calmed his rebellion by press- 
ing Blanche in his arms as if he would crush her. The 
young girl was for him a vengeance ; he possessed her 
as an irate master; he bent her beneath his kisses. 

His pride increased. His ambition was largely grati- 
fied. A son of the people, he at last controlled the 
4 


66 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


destiny of a daughter of those powerful and haughty 
men whose equipages had sometimes hurled mud into 
his face, and he recalled the legends of the country, 
the vexations of the nobles, the martyrdom of the 
people, all the cowardice of his fathers before the 
cruel caprices of the nobility. Then he took ven- 
geance : he stifled Blanche with his caresses. 

He had grown to feel a bitter joy in dragging her 
over the stones of the road. He did not avow these 
wretched thoughts; he hid from himself the cruelty 
of his conduct. The truth was that his beloved’s 
anguish and fatigue rendered her dearer and more 
desirable to him. He would have loved her less in a 
salon, in the midst of peace. In the evening, when, 
broken by weariness, she fell beside him, he contem- 
plated her with a cruel joy ; the child’s sufferings were 
another spur which augmented his strange love. 

The lovers had passed the night amid _ the filth of 
the Puyricard country-house. They were there, upon 
the straw, among the spider-webs, separated from the 
world. Around them fell the grand silence of the 
slumbering heavens. They could love each other in 
peace ; they no longer trembled ; they were alone. 
Philippe would not have exchanged the squalid hut 
for a royal palace ; he said to himself, with transports 
of pride, that a descendant of the Cazalis family was 
married to him and was with him in a stable. 

And on the morrow and the following days, what 
keen enjoyment to drag Blanche after him through 
the deserts of Jaumegarde! He bore away his beloved 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 67 

with all the gentleness of a father and the violence of 
a wild beast. 

He could not sleep in the station : the strong odor 
of the thyme, upon which he lay, drove him mad. He 
dreamed, wide awake, that M. de Cazalis had received 
him with tenderness and that he had been named 
deputy as the successor of his uncle. At times he 
heard the dolorous sighs of Blanche, who was dozing 
at his side, feverish and agitated. 

The young girl had come to consider her flight with 
Philippe as a nightmare, full of dolorous terrors. 
She remained, during the day, stupefied by fatigue ; she 
smiled sadly, but never complained. Her inexperience 
had made her accept the departure, and her weak 
character prevented her from demanding that they 
should return. She belonged body and soul to this 
man, who was carrying her in his arms; she would 
have preferred not to walk so much, but she had no 
idea of quitting Philippe ; she continued innocently to 
believe that her uncle would sanction their marriage, 
and that it was only necessary to run about among the 
rocks for a few days longer. She was a big baby, who 
had had the misfortune to be a woman before the 
proper age. 

At sunrise the fugitives quitted their retreat. Their 
garments began to be terribly torn, and poor Blanche’s 
shoes had holes in them. In the coolness of the morn- 
ing, amid the sharp perfumes of the plateau which 
the new-born sunbeams flooded with yellow and pink 
light, the lovers forgot for an hour their misery and 


68 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


their abandonment. They laughingly declared that 
the}^ were ferociously hungry. 

Then Philippe made Blanche enter the station, and 
hastened to Tholonet for provisions. He was gone 
half an hour. When he returned, he found the young 
girl frightened ; she asserted that she had seen wolves 
pass. 

A broad stone slab served as the breakfast table. 
Blanche and Philippe looked like a couple of Gypsy 
lovers breakfasting in the open air. After breakfast, 
the twain walked to the middle of the plateau where 
they remained all day. They passed there, perhaps, 
the happiest hours of their love-life. 

But, when twilight came on, they were afraid; they 
did not wish to spend another night in that solitude. 
The warmish and pure air of the hill had given them 
hopes and milder thoughts. 

Are you weary, my child ? ’’ asked Philippe of 
Blanche. 

‘‘ Oh ! yes,” answered the young girl. 

‘‘ Listen : we will make a last journey. Let us 
go to the country-house which Isnard owns in the 
Trois-bons-Dieux district, and remain there until your 
uncle pardons us or causes my arrest.” 

My uncle will pardon us.” 

‘‘ I dare not believe you. At any rate, I desire to 
flee no longer ; you have need of rest. Come ; we 
will walk slowly.” 

They crossed the plateau, going away from the 
Infernets, leaving to the right the OhS.teaa de Saint- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


69 


Marc, which they saw upon the height. In an hour 
they reached their destination. 

Isnard’s country-house was on the hill which stretches 
to the left of the Vauvenargues highway, when one has 
passed the Vallon de Repentance. It was a little, two- 
story cabin ; on the first floor there was but one apart- 
ment, in which stood a rickety table and three seatless 
chairs. A wooden ladder led to the chamber above, a 
sort of garret entirely bare, where the lovers found as 
the only furniture a wretched mattress placed upon a 
pile of hay. Isnard had charitably put a white sheet 
at the foot of the mattress. 

Philippe’s intention was to go to Aix on the morrow, 
and obtain information as to M. de Cazalis’ designs 
in regard to himself. He knew that he could not 
conceal himself much longer; he retired almost in 
peace, calmed by the soothing words of Blanche, who 
judged events with a young girl’s hopefulness. 

For twenty days the fugitives had been running 
about the fields. For twenty days the gendarmes had 
been scouring the country, following in their tracks, 
sometimes taking the wrong road but always brought 
back to the scent by some trifling circumstance. M. de 
Cazalis’ anger had increased at all these delays; his 
pride was irritated by each fresh obstacle. At Lambesc 
the gendarmes had presented themselves a few hours 
too late ; at Toulon the passage of the fugitives had 
been signaled only the day after their return to Aix; 
everywhere, Philippe and Blanche escaped as by a 
miracle. At last, the deputy accused the police of 
bad faith. 


70 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES, 


Finally, he was assured that the lovers were in the 
neighborhood of Aix and were about to be arrested. 
He hurried to Aix ; he wished to assist in the search. 

The woman of the Gours Sextius, who had har- 
bored Blanche and Philippe for a few hours, had 
been stricken with terror; that she might not be 
accused of complicity, she told all ; she said that the 
young folks must be concealed in one of Isnard’s 
country-houses. 

On being questioned, Isnard calmly denied every- 
thing. He declared that he had not seen his relative 
for several months. This took place at the very time 
Philippe and Blanche were entering the country-house 
of the Trois-bons-Dieux district. The mercer could 
not warn the lovers during the night. At five 
o’clock the next morning, a commissaire de police 
knocked at his door and informed him that a search 
was about to be made at his house and at his three 
properties. 

M. de Cazalis remained at Aix, declaring that he 
feared he might kill Philippe if he met him face to 
face. The agents who were directed to visit the 
Puyricard country-house found the nest empty. Isnard 
obligingly offered to conduct two gendarmes to his 
Tholonet property, suspecting that it would be a use- 
less errand. The commissaire de police, accompanied 
also by two gendarmes, started for the Trois-bons- 
Dieux district ; he took a locksmith with him, Isnard 
having stated vaguely that the key of the house was 
hidden under a stone to the right of the door. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


71 


It was about six o’clock when the commissaire 
reached the country-house. All the openings were 
closed ; no sound came from the interior. The com- 
missaire advanced and cried, in a loud voice, pounding 
upon the door with his fist : 

“ In the name of the law, open ! ” 

Echo alone answered. Nothing stirred. After sev- 
eral minutes, the commissaire turned to the locksmith 
and said : 

“ Pick the lock.” 

The locksmith went to work. The scraping of the 
iron broke the silence. Then the shutter of a window 
opened violently, and, amid the golden brightness of 
the rising sun, his neck and arms bare, appeared 
Philippe Cayol, disdainful and angry. 

‘‘What do you want?” said he, leaning his elbows 
heavily on the window sill. 

At the first blow dealt upon the door by the 
commissaire, Philippe and Blanche suddenly awoke. 
Seated on the mattress, amid the tremors of awaken- 
ing, they heard with anxiety the sound of voices. 

The cry, “ In the name of the law ! ” that terrible 
cry which bursts upon the ears of the guilty like a 
clap of thunder, nearly deprived the young man of 
breath. He started up, trembling, dismayed, not 
knowing what to do. The young girl, her eyes yet 
heavy with sleep, wrapped herself in the sheet and 
wept with shame and despair. 

Philippe comprehended that all was over, and that 
he could do nothing but surrender. A sullen revolt 


72 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


stirred in him. So his dreams of wealth were dead : 
he never would be acknowledged as Blanche’s hus- 
band; he had carried off an heiress to be cast into 
prison ; at the denouement, instead of the lordly 
dwelling of which he had dreamed, he would find a 
dungeon. Then a cowardly thought came to him: he 
entertained the idea of leaving his beloved there and 
fleeing in the direction of Vauvenargues to the gorges 
of Sainte-Victoire ; perhaps he might escape through a 
window at the back of the country-house. He leaned 
towards Blanche, and, hesitatingly, told her his plan 
in a low voice. The young girl, who was choking with 
sobs, did not understand him, did not hear him. He 
saw with anguish that, mentally, she was not in a 
condition to cover his flight. 

At that moment, he heard the sharp sound of the 
hooks which the locksmith had inserted in the lock. 
The secret and poignant drama, which was in progress 
in that bare chamber, had lasted at most two or three 
minutes. 

Philippe felt himself lost, and his irritated pride 
restored his courage. If he had been armed, he would 
have defended himself. Then he said to himself that 
he was not an abductor, that Blanche had chosen 
to follow and marry him, and that, after all, the 
shame in the matter was not for him. At this he 
angrily pushed open the shutter, demanding what was 
wanted. 

“Open the door for us,” commanded the commis- 
saire. “We will tell you afterwards what we want,” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


73 


Philippe came down the wooden ladder and opened 
the door. 

“ Are you the Sieur Philippe Cayol ? asked the 
commissaire. 

“Yes,” answered the young man, firmly. 

“ Then I arrest you as guilty of abduction. You 
have carried off a young girl under sixteen years of 
age, who should be hidden with you.” 

Philippe smiled disdainfully. 

“ The former Mademoiselle Blanche de Cazalis, who 
is now my wife, is up-stairs,” said he. “ She can 
declare if there has been violence on my part. I know 
not what you mean in talking of abduction. I shall, 
this very day, throw myself at the feet of M. de 
Cazalis and ask his sanction of his niece’s marriage 
with me.” 

Blanche, pale and trembling, descended the ladder. 
She had hastily dressed herself. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said the commissaire to her, “ I 
have orders to take you to your uncle, who is waiting 
for you at Aix. He is in tears.” 

“I am very sorry that I displeased my uncle,” 
replied Blanche, with a certain firmness ; “ but no one 
must accuse M. Cayol, whom I followed and married 
of my own free will.” 

And, turning towards the young man, moved, ready 
to sob anew : 

“ Hope, Philippe,” continued she ; “ I love you and 
will supplicate my uncle to be good to us. Our separa- 
tion will last only a few days.” 


74 


THE MYSTERIES OP MARSEILLES. 


Philippe looked at her with a sorrowful air, shaking 
his head. 

“ You are a timid and weak child,” said he, slowly. 

Then he added, in a harsh tone : 

“ Remember only that you are my wife, that you 
belong to me through the flesh and through the heart. 
If you desert me, every hour of your life the remem- 
brance of me will torment you ; you will always feel 
on your lips the fiery stamp of my kisses, and that 
shall be your punishment.” 

Blanche wept. 

‘‘ Love me as I love you,” resumed the young man, 
in a milder voice. 

The commissaire put Blanche into a carriage, which 
he had sent for, and conducted her to Aix, while the 
two gendarmes took Philippe and led him to the prison 
of that town. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. , 75 


CHAPTER VII. 

BLAKCHE TURNS AGAINST PHILIPPE. 

T he news of the arrest did not reach Marseilles 
until the following day. It caused a tremendous 
sensation. In the afternoon, M. de Cazalis was seen to 
pass with his niece over the Cannebi^re. Gossip ran 
wild; everybody talked of the deputy’s triumphant 
attitude, of Blanche’s embarrassment and blushes. 
M. de Cazalis was the man to exhibit the young girl 
throughout all Marseilles, in order to let the people 
know that she was again under his control. 

Marius, notified in the morning by Fine, had hurried 
about the city for hours. The public voice confirmed 
the news; he was able to seize on the wing all the 
details of the arrest. The fact, in a brief space, had 
become legendary, and the shop-keepers and corner 
idlers related it as if it had been a marvellous story of 
a century before. The young man, weary of hearing 
these idle tales, went to his office, his head aching, not 
knowing upon what to decide. 

Unfortunately, M. Martelly was absent and would 
not return until the following evening. Marius felt 
the necessity of acting sooner; he wished at once to 
take some step which would reassure him in regard to 


76 


THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


his brother’s fate. His fears consequent upon the re- 
ception of the news had, however, somewhat subsided; 
he had reflected that, after all, his brother could not 
be accused of abduction, and that Blanche would be 
on hand to defend him at any moment. He innocently 
arrived at the belief that he ought to visit M. de 
Cazalis to demand of him, in his brother’s name, his 
sanction to Philippe’s marriage with his niece. 

The next morning, he dressed himself in a com- 
plete suit of black and was descending the stairs, when 
Fine presented herself according to her custom. The 
poor girl grew deadly pale when Marias informed her 
of the object of his errand. 

Will you let me accompany you?” asked she, in a 
supplicating tone. ‘‘I will await in the street the 
answer of the young lady's uncle.” 

She followed Marius. On reaching the Cours Bona- 
parte, the young man entered the deputy’s house with 
a firm step and caused himself to be announced. 

M. de Cazalis’ blind rage had abated. He held his 
vengeance. He was about to demonstrate the great- 
ness of his power by crushing one of those liberals 
whom he detested. He now desired only to taste the 
cruel joy of playing with his prey. He ordered 
M. Marius Cayol to be admitted. He expected tears 
and ardent supplications. 

The young man found him in the centre of a large 
salon, standing, with a haughty and implacable air. 
He advanced towards him, and, without giving him 
time to speak, said, in a calm and polite tone : 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 7T 

“Monsieur, I have the honor to ask you, in the 
name of ray brother, M. Philippe Gayol, for your sanc- 
tion to the marriage between him and Mademoiselle 
Blanche de Cazalis, your niece.” 

The deputy was literally thunderstruck. He could 
not get angry, so grotesquely extravagant did Marius’ 
demand seem to him. Drawing back, staring the 
young man in the face and laughing disdainfully, he 
answered : 

“ You are mad. Monsieur. I am aware that you are 
a hard-working and honest fellow, and that is the 
reason I do not order my servants to put you out of 
the house. Your brother is a scoundrel, a knave who 
will be punished according to his deserts. What do 
you want of me ? ” 

Marius, on hearing his brother insulted, felt a fero- 
cious desire to fall like a clown upon the noble person- 
age and beat him with his fists. He restrained himself 
and continued, in a voice which began to tremble with 
emotion : 

“ I have told you what I want. Monsieur. I came 
here to offer Mademoiselle de Cazalis the only repara- 
tion possible — a legal marriage sanctioned by you. Thus 
the wrong that has been done her will be obliterated.” 

“We are above wrong!” cried the deputy, con- 
temptuously. “There is no shame for Blanche de 
Cazalis in having been beloved by a fellow like Phi- 
lippe Cayol, but there would be shame for her in allying 
herself with such people as you. I will never sanction 
that marriage, which, without my consent is null and 
void ! ” 


78 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

“ Sucli people as we are have other ideas in regard 
to honor. But I do not insist ; duty alone dictated to 
me the offer of reparation which you refuse. Permit 
me only to add that your niece would, without doubt, 
urge upon you a different course, if I had the honor of 
addressing myself to her.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said M. de Cazalis, in a jeering 
tone. 

He rang and ordered his niece to be brought thither 
immediately. Blanche entered, pale, her eyes red. 
She looked as if broken by too strong emotions. On 
perceiving Marius, she trembled. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle,” said her uncle, coldly, here is a 
gentleman who formally asks for your hand in the 
name of the infamous wretch whom I forbear to men- 
tion otherwise in your presence. Tell the gentleman 
what you told me yesterday.” 

Blanche wavered. She dared not look at Marius. 
With eyes fixed upon her uncle, all in a tremble, she 
murmured, in a hesitating and feeble voice : 

‘‘I told you that I was abducted by^ violence, and 
forced into a marriage, and that I would use every 
effort to obtain punishment for the odious wrong of 
which I was the victim.” 

These words were recited like a lesson learned. 
Following the example of Saint Peter, Blanche de- 
nied her Lord. 

M. de Cazalis had not lost his time. The moment 
his niece was in his power, he brought to bear upon 
her all his prejudice and all his pride. He realized 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


79 


that she alone could make him win the game. It was 
imperative that the young girl should lie, that she 
should stifle the revolts and the cries of her heart, that 
she should be a yielding and passive instrument in 
his hands. 

For four hours he poured cold and sharp words into 
her ears. He did not commit the imprudence of show- 
ing anger. He spoke with crushing haughtiness, re- 
minding her of the antiquity of her race, talking of his 
power and his fortune. He displayed exquisite cunning, 
sketching on one side the picture of a ridiculous and 
vulgar mesalliance, showing on the other side the noble 
joys of a rich and great marriage. He attacked the 
young girl through her coquetry, her vanity, her appe- 
tite for luxury and her self-love ; he fatigued her, 
broke her, stupefied her, rendered her what he wished 
her to be — supple and inert. 

After this long interview, this long martyrdom, 
Blanche was conquered. Perhaps, under her uncle’s 
overwhelming words, her patrician blood at last re- 
volted at the remembrance of Philippe’s brutal caresses ; 
perhaps, her childish vanity was aroused at the mention 
of luxurious toilets, honors of all kinds and worldly 
delights. Besides, her head was too weak, her heart 
too cowardly, to resist the deputy’s terrible will. Each 
phrase uttered by M. de Cazalis had struck her, 
crushed her, filled her with dolorous anxiety. She had 
loved, followed and married Philippe through weak- 
ness; now she had turned against him also through 
weakness; she was still the same timid and inexperi- 


80 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


enced soul. She had accepted everything. She had 
promised everything. She liad been eager to escape 
from the suffocating weight which her uncle’s discourse 
had heaped upon her. 

When Marius heard her make her strange declara- 
tion, he stood stupefied, filled with terror. He recalled 
the young girl’s attitude at the house of the gardener 
Ayasse ; he saw her hanging about Philippe’s neck, 
faint, trusting and loving. 

“ Ah ! Mademoiselle,” cried he, bitterly, “ the odious 
wrong of which you were the victim appeared to 
exasperate you less the day you begged me with 
clasped hands to implore your uncle’s pardon and con- 
sent. Have you reflected that your falsehood will 
cause the ruin of the man whom, perhaps, you still 
love and who is your husband in the sight of God ? ” 

Blanche, rigid, her lips pressed together, stared 
vaguely before her. 

“ I know not what you mean,” answered she, hesi- 
tatingly. “I have told no falsehood. I yielded to 
force. That man deceived and wronged me, and my 
uncle will avenge the honor of our family.” 

Marius straightened up. Generous anger added 
to his short stature and his thin face grew beautiful 
with justice and truth. He glanced around him, and, 
with a gesture of contempt, said, in a measured 
tone : 

‘‘ And I am in the Cazalis mansion, I am in the home 
of the descendants of that illustrious family which 
Provence delights to honor, I knew not that falsehood 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


81 


dwelt within these walls, and did not expect to find 
calumny and cowardice sheltered here. Oh ! you shall 
hear me to the end. I wish to cast my lackey’s dignity 
into the unworthy faces of my masters ! ” 

Then, turning to the deputy and pointing towards 
Blanche, who was quivering like a leaf, he resumed : 

“That child is innocent; I pardon her weakness. 
But you. Monsieur, you are a crafty man ; you protect 
maidens by making them liars and cowards ; 3^ou are, 
indeed, a noble son of your fathers. If now you were 
to offer me for my brother your sanction to this mar- 
riage with Mademoiselle Blanche de Cazalis, I would 
refuse it, for I have never lied, I have never commit- 
ted an evil action, and I should blush to ally myself 
with such people as you ! ” 

M. de Cazalis bent beneath the young man’s fury. 
At the first insult, he had summoned a tall devil of a 
lackey, who was standing on the threshold of the door. 
As the deputy signed to him to throw Marius into the 
street, the latter continued, with a terrible burst of 
auger: 

“ I swear to you that I will cry murder if that man 
take a step. Let me pass. Some da}". Monsieur, I 
may, perhaps, be able to hurl into your face before 
everybody the truths I have just spoken in this salon ! ” 
And he departed, with a deliberate and firm step. 
He no longer saw Philippe’s guilt ; in his eyes hisi 
brother had become a victim whom he wished to save 
and avenge at any cost. In his upright soul, the 
smallest falsehood, the least injustice, brought on a 
5 


82 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MAK&EILLES. 


tempest. Already the gossip, which M. de Cazalis 
had set afloat at the time of the flight, had made him 
assume the defence of the fugitives ; now that Blanche 
had lied and that the deputy was making use of the 
calumny, he longed to be powerful enough to take 
justice into his own hands and proclaim the truth in 
the open street. 

He found Fine upon the sidewalk. Uneasiness was 
devouring her. 

‘‘Well?” asked the young girl, as soon as she 
saw him. 

“Well!” answered Marius, “those people are 
miserable liars and proud idiots.” 

Fine took a long breath. A wave of blood mounted 
to her cheeks. 

“ Then,” said she, “ Monsieur Philippe’s marriage 
with the young lady is not to be acknowledged ? ” 

“ The young lady,” replied Marius, with a bitter 
smile, “claims that Philippe is a scoundrel who abduc- 
ted her by violence and forced her to marry him I My 
brother is lost I ” 

Fine did not understand. She bowed her head, 
asking herself how the young lady could call her lover 
a scoundrel. And she thought that she would have 
been delighted to have been married to Philippe, even 
through violence. Marius’ rage enchanted her: the 
project for legalizing the marriage had failed. 

“Your brother is lost, you say,” murmured she, with 
tender cajolery. “ Oh ! I will save him — we will save 
him together I ” 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MAESEILLES. 


83 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE POWERLESS BROTHER. 

W HEN, ill the evening, Marius related to M. 

Martelly the interview he had had with M. de 
Cazalis, the ship-owner said to him, shaking his hand : 

‘‘I know not what advice to give you, my friend. I 
do not wish to fill you with despair ; but rest assured 
that you will be vanquished. It is your duty to engage 
in the struggle, and I will second you as best I may. 
Let us admit, however, between ourselves, that we are 
weak and disarmed in face of an adversary who has on 
his side the clergy and the nobility. Marseilles and 
Aix love not the monarchy of July, and these two 
cities are entirely devoted to a deputy of the opposi- 
tion who makes terrible war on M. Thiers. They will 
aid M. de Cazalis in his vengeance ; I speak of the 
leaders ; the people will help us, if they can help any 
one. Our best plan would be to win to our cause an 
influential member of the clergy. Do you not know 
some priest in favor with the bishop?” 

Marius answered that he knew the Abb^ Chastanier, 
a poor old fellow who was entirely powerless. 

“ No matter ; see him,” said the ship-owner. “ The 
citizens cannot help us ; the nobility would thrust us 
ignominiously into the street, if we asked favors of 


84 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


them. The church remains. It is there we must knock. 
Take the matter in hand ; I will work on my side.” 

Marius, the next day, went to Saint-Victor. The 
Abb^ Chastanier received him with a sort of terrified 
embarrassment. 

“ Do not ask anything of me ! ” cried he, at the 
young man’s first words. “ It is known that I have 
already meddled with that affair, and I have received 
grave reproaches. As I have told you, I am only a 
poor man ; I can do nothing but pray God.” 

The humble attitude of the old priest touched 
Marius. He was about to depart when the abbe 
retained him and said, in a low tone : 

“Listen: there is a man here, the Abb^ Donad^i, 
who could be useful to you. It is said that he stands 
on the best footing with Monseigneur. He is a foreign 
priest, an Italian, I believe, who, in a few months, has 
won everybody’s love.” 

The Abb^ Chastanier paused, hesitating, seeming to 
interrogate himself. The worthy man thought that he 
was about to compromise himself terribly, but could 
not resist the sweet joy of rendering a service. 

“ Do you wish me to accompany you to his house ? ” 
asked he, suddenly. 

Marius, who had noticed his brief hesitation, strove 
to refuse ; but the old man was resolved ; he no longer 
heeded his personal peace : he wished to content his 
heart. 

“ Come,” resumed he. “ The Abb^ Donad^i lives 
but a short distance from here, on the Boulevard 
de la Corderie.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


85 


After a few minutes’ walk, the Abb^ Chastanier 
stopped in front of a small, two-story house, one of 
those close and discreet houses which have a vague 
air of mystery. 

“ This is the place,” said he to Marius. 

An aged serving-woman answered their summons 
and introduced them into a little study with sombre 
hangings, which resembled an austere boudoir. 

The Abb^ Donadei received them with supple ease. 
His pale face, full of cunning and indicative of trickery, 
did not betray the least astonishment. He offered 
chairs with a cajoling gesture, half bent, half smiling, 
doing the honors of his study as a woman would do 
the honors of her toilet-chamber. 

He wore a long black robe, loose at the waist. He 
had a coquettish look in that plain costume ; his white 
and delicate hands emerged as small as a woman’s 
from broad sleeves, and his shaven visage maintained 
a tender freshness amid the chestnut curls of his hair. 
He appeared to be about thirty. 

He seated himself in an arm-chair and listened, with 
smiling gravity, to what Marius had to say. He made 
him repeat the details of the flight of Philippe 
and Blanche; the narrative seemed to interest him 
infinitely. 

The Abbe Donadei was born at Rome. He had an 
uncle a cardinal. One fine day, that uncle sent him 
hurriedly to France, without people ever discovering 
exactly why. On his arrival, the handsome abbd was 
compelled to enter the little seminary of Aix as 


86 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


professor of living languages. A situation so low 
down in the scale humiliated him to such a point 
that he fell ill. 

The cardinal was moved and recommended his 
nephew to the Bishop of Marseilles. Then satisfied 
ambition cured Donad^i. He entered Saint-Victor, 
and, as the Abb^ Chastanier innocently remarked, had 
won everybody’s love in a few months. His caressing 
Italian nature and his mild, rosy face made him the 
delight of the demure lady devotees of the parish. 
He triumphed particularly when in the pulpit: his 
slight accent gave a strange charm to his sermons, and, 
when he opened his arms, he imparted to his hands 
quivers of emotion which melted the congregation to 
tears. 

Like almost all Italians, he was born for intrigue. 
He used and abused his uncle’s recommendation to the 
Bishop of Marseilles. Soon he was a power, a hidden 
power which toils beneath the surface and opens pits 
for the steps of those it wishes to rid itself of. He 
became a member of a religious society, all-powerful 
in Marseilles, and, by his suppleness in smiling and 
bowing, imposed his will upon his colleagues and 
made himself the head of a party. Then, he mixed 
himself up with every event, glided into all affairs; he 
it was who had caused M. de Cazalis to be named 
deputy, and he was awaiting a suitable opportunity to 
demand of him payment for his services. His plan 
was to work for the success of the rich ; later, when 
he had merited their gratitude, he counted upon 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


87 


making them work in their turn to advance his own 
fortune. 

He questioned Marius with complacency ; he seemed 
from his attention, from the kindness of his reception, to 
be altogether disposed to aid him in his work of deliv- 
erance. The young man allowed himself to be trapped 
by the amiable mildness of his manners ; he opened 
his soul to him, told him his projects and admitted that 
the clergy alone could save his brother. Finally, he 
asked him to use his influence with Monseigneur. 
Then the Abb^ Donad^i arose and, in a tone of austere 
pleasantry, said : 

Monsieur, my sacred character prohibits me from 
interfering in this deplorable and scandalous affair. 
The enemies of the church too often accuse the priests 
of going out of their sacristies. I can only ask God 
to pardon your brother.” 

Marius, in consternation, had also arisen. He 
realized that he had been tricked by Donadei. He 
strove to keep an unmoved countenance. 

“ I thank you,” answered he. ‘‘ Prayers are very 
sweet alms for the unfortunate. Ask God that men 
may do us justice.” 

He went towards the door, followed by the Abb^ 
Chastanier, who walked with bowed head. Donadei 
had affected not to see the old priest. 

Upon the threshold, the handsome abbe, recovering 
all his graceful levity, retained Marius an instant. 

“You are employed by M. Martelly, I believe,” 
said he. 


88 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


“Yes, Monsieur,” replied the young man, in 
astonishment. 

“ He is a man of high honor, but I know he is not 
one of our friends. Nevertheless, I cherish the most 
profound esteem for him. His sister. Mademoiselle 
Claire, whom I have the honor of directing, is one 
of our best parishioners.” 

And as Marius stared at him, finding nothing to say 
in reply, Donad^i added, coloring slightly : 

“ She is a charming person, and of exemplary piety.” 

He bowed with exquisite politeness and gently 
closed the door. The Abb^ Chastanier and Marius, 
standing alone upon the sidewalk, glanced at each 
other, and the young man could not avoid shrugging 
his shoulders. The old priest was confused to see a 
minister of God play comedy thus. He turned towards 
his companion and said, hesitatingly: 

“ My friend, we must not blame God if his ministers 
are not always what they should be. The J' oung man 
from whom we have just parted is guilty only of 
ambition.” 

He went on thus, excusing Donad^i. Marius looked 
at him, touched by his goodness, and, despite himself, 
he compared this poor and modest old man with the 
powerful and graceful abb^, whose smiles were the 
law of the diocese. Then he thought that the church 
loved not her sons with an equal love and that, like all 
mothers, she spoiled the rosy faces and tricky hearts, 
and neglected the tender and humble souls who 
devoted themselves in the shade. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


89 


The two visitors were departing, when a carriage 
stopped before the close and discreet little house. 
Marius saw M. de Cazalis descend from this car- 
riage ; the deputy hastily entered the Abbe Donad^i’s 
dwelling. 

“Look, father,” cried the young man; “lam cer- 
tain that the sacred character of that priest will not 
prohibit him from working to secure the vengeance of 
M. de Cazalis.” 

He was tempted to return to that house, in which 
God was made to play so miserable a role. But he 
calmed himself; he thanked the Abb^ Chastanier and 
went his way, saying mentally with despair that the 
last door of safety, that of which the high clergy held 
the key, had been shut in his face. 

The next day, M. Martelly informed him of an 
attempt he had made with the leading notary of 
Marseilles, M. Douglas, a pious man, who, in less 
than eight years, had become a veritable power 
through his rich clientele and his liberal alms. The 
name of this notary was loved and respected. People 
spoke with admiration of the virtues of this upright 
toiler, who lived frugally ; they had unbounded confi- 
dence in his honesty and in the activity of his intelli- 
gence. 

M. Martelly had availed himself of his assistance to 
invest certain funds. He hoped that, if Douglas would 
lend his support to Marius, the latter would have a 
portion of the clergy on his side. He went to the 
house of the notary and asked his aid. Douglas, who 


90 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


seemed greatly preoccupied, stammered out an evasive 
answer, saying that he was overburdened with business 
and that he could not struggle against M. de Cazalis, 

“I did not insist,” said M. Martelly to Marius; “I 
imagined that your adversary had been before you. I 
am astonished, however, that M. Douglas, a man of 
probity, should allow his hands to be tied. Now, my 
poor friend, I am sure that the game is entirely up.” 

Marius had no longer the smallest hope. For a 
month he scoured Marseilles, striving to win to his 
cause a few influential men. Everywhere he was 
received coldly, with satirical politeness. M. Mar- 
telly was equally unsuccessful. The deputy had 
rallied all the nobility and the high clergy around 
him. The citizens, the commercial people, laughed in 
their sleeves, without taking any action, having an 
atrocious fear of compromising themselves. As to the 
masses, they lampooned M. de Cazalis and his niece, 
not being able otherwise to serve Philippe Cayol. 

Time sped on ; the preparations for the criminal 
trial were progressing rapidly. As on the first day, 
Marius stood alone to defend his brother against 
M. de Cazalis’ hatred and Blanche’s complaisant lies. 
He had constantly beside him M. Martelly, who 
declared himself powerless, and Fine, whose fiery talk 
had gained for Philippe the ardent sympathy of the 
girls of the people. 

One morning, Marius learned that his brother and 
the gardener Ayasse had been indicted, the first as 
guilty of abduction and the second as accomplice in 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


91 


the crime. Madame Cayol had been released, the 
proofs against her not being sufficient to hold her 
for trial. 

Marius hastened to embrace his mother. The poor 
woman had suffered greatly during her imprisonment; 
her wavering health was greatly impaired. A few 
days after her discharge from prison, she gently 
expired in the arms of her son, who swore amid his 
sobs to avenge her death. 

The funeral occasioned a popular manifestation. 
Philippe’s mother was taken to the Cimetiere Saint- 
Charles, followed by an immense cortege of women of 
the people, who accused M. de Cazalis, in loud tones, 
of being the cause of her death. But little was want- 
ing to induce these women to rush to the deputy’s 
house and hurl stones at the windows. 

On returning from the burial, Marius, in his little 
apartment on the Rue Sainte, felt himself alone in the 
world and wept bitterly. His tears solaced him ; he 
saw the road he must take, clearly traced before his 
eyes. The evils which overwhelmed him augmented 
in him the love of truth and the hatred of injustice. 
He felt that all the rest of his life must be devoted to 
a holy work. 

There was nothing now for him to do in Marseilles. 
The scene of the drama had changed. The action was 
to occur at Aix, according to the variations of the 
trial. Marius wished to be on the spot to follow the 
different phases of the case and profit by the incidents 
which might present themselves. He asked M. 


92 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Martelly for a month’s leave-of-absence, which the 
ship-owner at once granted him. 

On the day of his departure, he found Fine in the 
diligence. 

“ I am going to Aix with you,” said the young girl 
to him, calmly. 

‘^But this is madness!” cried he. “You are not 
rich enough to devote yourself thus. And your 
flowers, who will sell them?” 

“ Oh I I have put in my place one of my friends, a 
girl who lives upon the same landing with me on the 
Place aux CEufs. I said to myself ; ‘ I can be of use 

to them ; ’ so I put on my handsomest dress and here 
I am I ” 

“ I thank you with all my soul I ” said Marius, 
simply, in a shaking voice. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


93 


CHAPTER IX. 

M. BE GIROIJSSE GOSSIPS. 

A t Aix, Marius went to the house of Isnard, who 
dwelt on the Rue dTtalie. The mercer had not 
been disturbed. A prey of such slight value was, 
doubtless, disdained. 

Fine went straight to the dwelling of the jailer of 
the prison. She was his niece by marriage. She had 
her plan. She took with her a huge bouquet of roses 
which was received with delight. Her pretty smiles 
and her caressing vivacity made her in two hours her 
uncle’s spoiled child ; the jailer was a widower and 
had two infant daughters of whom Fine immediately 
became the little mother. 

The trial was not to begin until the commencement 
of the following week. Marius, his hands tied, no 
longer daring to take a single step, awaited with 
anguish the opening of the proceedings. At times he 
was still mad enough to hope for, to count on, an 
acquittal. 

One evening, while w^alking upon the Cours, he met 
M. de Girousse, who had come from Lambesc to be 
present at Philippe’s trial. The old gentleman took 
his arm, and, without uttering a word, led him to his 
hotel. 


94 


THE MYSTEKIES OF MAllSEILLES. 


“Now,” said he, shutting himself up with him in a 
large salon, “ we are alone, my friend. I can be a 
plebeian at my ease.” 

Marius smiled at the rough and peculiar behavior of 
the comte. 

“Well,” continued the latter, “you do not ask me 
to serve you, to defend you against de Cazalis ! You 
are intelligent. You understand that I can do nothing 
against the obstinate and vain nobility to whom I 
belong. Ah ! your brother sought for lofty game ! ” 

M. de Girousse strode about the salon. Suddenly 
he planted himself before Marius. 

“Listen to our history,” said he, in an excited voice: 
“ There are, in this good town, fifty old fellows like 
mj^self, who live apart, cloistered in the depths of a 
past forevet dead. We call ourselves the flower of 
Provence, and here we are, inactive, twirling our 
thumbs. But we are gentlemen, chivalrous hearts, 
awaiting with devotion the return of our legitimate 
princes. Ah ! mordieu ! we will wait a long while, 
such a long while that solitude and idleness will kill 
us before the least sign of a legitimate prince appears. 
If we had good eyes, we would see the march of 
events. We cry to the facts: ‘You shall go no 
further ! ’ and the facts calmly pass over our bodies 
and crush us. I am enraged to see us shut up in an 
infatuation as ridiculous as heroic. To think that we 
are almost all rich, that we could almost all become 
intelligent artisans who could toil for the prosperity of 
the country, and that we prefer to mould in the 
recesses of our hotels like old wrecks of another age ! ” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


95 


He took breath, and then continued, with greater 
energy : 

“And we are all proud of our empty existence. We 
do not work out of disdain for toil. We have a holy 
horror of people whose hands are grimy. Ah! your 
brother has touched one of our daughters I He will 
be made to see if he is of the same blood as we are. 
We will unite together and give a lesson to the clowns; 
we will take from them the desire to be beloved 
by our children. Some powerful ecclesiastics will 
second us: they are fatally bound to our cause. This 
will be a fine campaign for our vanity.” 

After an instant’s silence, M. de Girousse resumed, 
jeeringly : 

“Our vanity I It has sometimes met with huge 
impediments. A few years before my birth, a terrible 
drama was enacted in the hotel which adjoins mine. 
M. d’ Entrecasteaux, the President of Parliament, 
assassinated his wife there in her bed; he cut her 
throat with a razor, urged on, the}^ say, by a passion 
which he wished to gratify even b}^ the aid of crime. 
The razor was not found until twenty-five days after- 
wards, at the extremity of the garden ; they found also 
in the well the victim’s jewels, which the murderer 
had thrown there to make justice believe that the 
motive of the assassination had been robbery. Presi- 
dent d’ Entrecasteaux fled and retired, I believe, to 
Portugal, where he died miserably. The Parliament 
condemned him for non-appearance to be broken alive 
upon the wheel. You see that we also have our 


96 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


scoundrels and that the people have no reason to 
envy us. This cowardly cruelty on the part of one of 
our number struck, at the time, a heavy blow at our 
authority. A novelist might make a stirring romance 
of that bloody and lugubrious history. 

“ And we also know how to cringe,” said M. de 
Girousse, who had resumed walking. “For example, 
when Fouch^, the regicide, then Due d’Otrante, was, 
about 1810, temporarily exiled to our city, all the 
nobles threw themselves at his feet. I recall an anec- 
dote which shows to what base servility we descended : 
On the first of January, 1811, a line was formed to 
offer the former member of the Convention the wish of 
a happy new year ; in the reception salon, they were 
talking of the extreme cold then prevailing, and one 
of the visitors expressed fears as to the fate of the 
olive trees. ‘ Ah ! what do we care about olive trees,’ 
cried one of the noble personages, ‘provided that M. 
the Due enjoys good health ! ’ See how we are to-day, 
my friend : humble with the powerful and haughty 
with the weak. There are, without doubt, exceptions, 
but they are rare. You can readily understand that 
your brother will be convicted. Our pride, which 
bends before a Fouch^, cannot bend before a Cayol. 
That’s logical. Good-evening.” 

And the comte hastily dismissed Marius. He had 
grown exasperated while speaking, and was afraid that 
anger might make him talk foolishness. 

The next day, the young man met him again. 
M. de Girousse, as on the previous evening, led him 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


97 


into his hotel. He held in his hand a journal contain- 
ing the names of the jurors who were to try Philippe. 

He struck the journal forcibly with his finger. 

“Here are the men,” cried he, “who are to be 
entrusted with your brother’s fate. Shall I give you 
a few histories in regard to them ? Those histories are 
curious and instructive.” 

M. de Girousse had seated himself. He ran his eye 
over the journal, shrugging his shoulders. 

“It is,” said he, at last, “a select jury, an assem- 
blage of rich people whose interest it is to serve the 
cause of M. de Cazalis. They are all more or less 
church-wardens, more or less frequenters of the salons 
of the nobility. Nearly all of them have for friends 
men who pass their mornings in the churches and 
squeeze money wrongfully out of their customers the 
rest of the day.” 

Then he named the jurors one by one, and spoke 
of the society in which they moved with indignant 
vehemence. 

“ Humbert,” said he, — “ the brother of a merchant 
of Marseilles, of an oil dealer, an honest man held in 
high consideration, whom all the poor devils salute. 
Twenty years ago, their father was only an humble 
clerk. To-day, the sons are millionaires, thanks to his 
shrewd speculations. One year, he sold in advance, at 
the current price, an enormous quantity of oil. A 
few weeks afterwards, the cold killed the olive trees 
and the crop was lost ; he was ruined if he did not 
deceive his customers. But our man preferred decep- 
6 


98 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


tion to poverty. While his brethren in the trade deliv- 
ered sound merchandise at a loss, he bought all the 
spoiled oil, all the rancid oil, he could find, and made 
his promised deliveries. His customers complained 
and grew angry. The speculator coolly replied that 
he had strictly kept his promises, and that they could 
demand nothing further of him. The trick was played. 
All Marseilles knows this history and has not enough 
bows for this adroit man. 

‘‘ Gautier — another merchant of Marseilles. He 
has a nephew, Paul Bertrand, who tricked on a vast 
scale. This Bertrand was in partnership with a Sieur 
Aubert, of New York, who sent him cargoes of mer- 
chandise to be sold at Marseilles. They were to divide 
the profits. Our man made a great deal of money at 
this business, the more because he took care to cheat 
his partner in each division. One day, a crisis was 
reached and losses came. Bertrand continued to 
accept the merchandise which the ships still brought, 
but refused to pay the drafts Aubert drew upon him, 
saying that business had proved unfortunate with him 
and that he was embarrassed. The drafts went back, 
and returned again with enormous costs added. Then 
Bertrand calmly declared that he would not pay them, 
that he was not obliged eternally to remain Aubert's 
partner and that he owed him nothing. Another send 
ing back of the drafts; new costs, heavy reimbursements 
for the surprised and indignant New York merchant. 
The latter, who could sue only by power of attorney, 
lost the action for damages and interest which he 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


99 


broilght against Bertrand ; I have been assured that 
two-thirds of his fortune, twelve hundred thousand 
francs, were swallowed up in this catastrophe. Ber- 
trand remains the most honest man in the world ; he 
is a member of all the societies and several congrega- 
tions ; he is envied and honored. 

“Dutailly — a grain merchant. There happened in 
the past to one of his sons-in-law, Georges Fouque, a 
misadventure, the scandal of which his friends hastened 
to stifle. Fouque always so managed it as to cause the 
cargoes, which the ships brought him, to be found dam- 
aged. The insurance companies paid, upon the report 
of an expert. Weary of paying constantly, these com- 
panies entrusted the duty of reporting to an honest 
baker, who speedily received a visit from Fouque. 
The latter, while chatting about unimportant matters, 
slipped some gold pieces into his hand. The baker 
let the pieces fall and, with a kick, sent them into the 
middle of the apartment. The scene took place in the 
presence of a number of persons. Fouque has lost 
nothing of his credit. 

“Delorme — a man who lives in a town near Mar- 
seilles. He retired from business long ago. Listen to 
the details of an infamous action committed by his 
cousin Mille. Thirty years since, Mille’s mother kept 
a mercer’s shop. When the old lady retired, she 
transferred her stock to one of her clerks, an active 
and intelligent fellow, whom she regarded almost as a 
son. The young man, whose name was Michel, soon 
paid his debt and so increased his trade that he was 


100 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

obliged to take a partner. He chose a Marseilles 
youth, Jean Martin, who had some money and who 
seemed to be honorable and industrious. It was a 
certain fortune wdiich Michel offered his partner. At 
first, everything went for the best. The profits were 
augmented yearly, and the two associates each put 
aside a round sum at the close of every twelvemonth. 
But Jean Martin, greedy of gain and dreaming of a 
rapid fortune, said to himself at last that he would 
make twice as much if he were alone. The matter 
was difficult to accomplish ; Michel, in short, was his 
benefactor, and the owner of the house, Mme. Mille’s 
son, was his friend. Should the latter prove to be an 
honest man, Jean Martin would fail in his shameful 
project. He called on him, counting upon finding a 
man of his own stamp, and, in fact, he found in him 
the scoundrel he sought. Martin asked for a new lease 
in his own name, offering a large sum of money, and, 
as Mille haggled, he doubled, then tripled the amount. 
Mille, who is a pedant and a miser, sold himself for 
the highest possible price ; the bargain was concluded. 
Then, Jean Martin played with Michel the role of a 
hypocrite ; he told him that he wished to dissolve theit 
partnership agreement that he might establish himself 
further away ; he even pointed out to him the shop he 
had hired. Michel, astonished, but not suspecting the 
infamous proceeding of which he was to be the victim, 
informed him that he was at liberty to withdraw, and 
the agreement was annulled. A short time afterwards, 
Michel’s lease expired, and Jean Martin, his new lease 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 101 

in his hand, triumphantly showed his former partner the 
door. Such crimes escape human justice, but the cow- 
ardly and greedy wretches who commit them are con- 
demned by the tribunal of men of honor. I cannot 
suflQciently express my contempt for this Mille, who, 
from infancy had been the friend, the brother, so to 
speak, of Michel, whom he betrayed in a manner so 
venal and so base. There are plenty of such foul con- 
sciences as his, which bear the weight of an infamous 
deed lightly. Since we cannot drag into the Cour 
d’Assises these cunning criminals who cast their friends 
upon the sidewalk for a bag of hundred-sou pieces, we 
should post their names in huge letters at the street 
corners and each passer should spit upon them. That 
is the ignoble pillory they deserve. Michel, driven 
almost wild by this treason, established himself in 
another locality ; but, having no longer any customers, 
he lost the money he had laboriously amassed by thirty 
years of toil. He died of paralysis amid atrocious suf- 
fering, crying out that Mille and Martin were wretches 
and traitors, and calling upon his sons for vengeance. 
To-day, his sons are working, are sweating blood and 
water, to win a position. Mille is allied to the first 
families of the city; his children are rich; they live 
luxuriously, surrounded by the devotion and esteem 
of all. 

‘‘Faivre — . His mother took for her second hus- 
band a Sieur Chabran, a ship-owner and note shaver. 
Under pretext of unfortunate speculations, Chabran 
wrote one day to his numerous creditors that he was 


102 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

forced to suspend payment. Some consented to give 
him time. The majority wished to prosecute him. 
Then Chabran hired two young lads, into whose ears 
for a week he poured a certain lesson ; then, flanked 
by these two little beings, perfectly drilled, he visited, 
one after another, all his creditors, bewailing his 
trouble and demanding pity for his two sons, ragged 
and without bread. The trick succeeded marvellously. 
All his creditors tore up their notes. The following 
day, Chabran was at the Bourse, calmer and more inso- 
lent than ever. A broker, who was ignorant of what 
had taken place, proposed to him to discount two 
notes, signed by some of the very merchants who, the 
day before, had given quittance to this wretch. ‘ I 
will have nothing to do with people of that class,’ he 
answered, boldly. Now, Chabran has almost given 
up business; he lives in a splendid hotel, where he 
gives sumptuous dinners on ISundays. 

‘‘ Gerominot — the President of a club at which he 
passes his evenings, and a usurer of the worst kind. 
He has made, they say, a million francs at that busi- 
ness, which has enabled him to marry his daughter to 
a shining light of finance. His name is Pertigny, but, 
since the failure which left in his hands a capital of 
three hundred thousand francs, he has called himself 
F^lix. This adroit scoundrel made, forty years ago, 
his first failure, which put him in condition to buy a 
house. His creditors received fifteen per cent. Ten 
years later, a second failure permitted him to acquire a 
superb country mansion. His creditors received ten 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 103 

per cent. Scarcelj fifteen years ago, he made a third 
failure for three hundred thousand francs and offered 
five per cent. The creditors having refused to accept 
it, he proved to them that all his property belonged to 
his wife, and did not give them a centime.” 

Marius was discouraged ; he made a gesture of dis- 
gust, as if to interrupt these ignominious revelations. 

“You do not believe me, perhaps,” resumed the 
terrible comte, with a certain haughtiness. “You are 
a young innocent, my friend. I have not finished ; I 
wish you to hear me to the end.” 

M. de Girousse jeered with a sinister heat. His 
words, loud and hissing, fell like the crack of a whip 
upon those whose foul histories he recited. One 
recognized the disdainful gentleman from the freedom 
of his speech and the generous impetuosity of his 
fury. 

He named the jurors turn by turn ; he scanned their 
lives and those of their families ; he exposed all the 
shame and wretchedness in them. Very few, indeed, 
did he spare. Then he violently placed himself before 
Marius and continued, with asperity : 

“Did you have the innocence to believe that all 
those millionaires, all those parvenus, all those power- 
ful people, who domineer over and crush you, were 
little saints and just men whose lives were without 
stain ? Those men make a display, at Marseilles, of 
their vanity and their insolence ; they have become 
devotees and hypocrites ; they have deceived even the 
honest folks who salute and esteem them. In a word, 


104 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

they form an aristocracy of their own ; tlieir past is 
forgotten ; one sees but their wealth and probity of 
recent date. Well, I will tear off the masks. Listen: 
This one has made a fortune by betraying a friend; 
another by selling human flesh ; another by selling his 
wife or his daughter ; another by speculating on the 
misfortunes of his creditors ; another by redeeming at 
a low figure, after having himself adroitly discredited 
it, all the stock of a company of which he was the 
superintendent; another by sinking a ship loaded 
with stones instead of merchandise, and making the 
insurance company pay him the price of this strange 
cargo ; another, a partner by verbal agreement, by re- 
fusing to share the hazard of an operation as soon as 
that operation became bad ; another by hiding his 
assets, making two or three failures and living after- 
wards like a man of means ; another by selling for 
wine extract of logwood or beef’s blood ; another by 
forestalling grain on the ocean during the years of 
scarcity; another by defrauding the revenue on a 
large scale, by striving to corrupt the employes and by 
stealing his fill from the administration; another by 
placing on notes forged signatures of relatives or 
friends, who were afraid to deny them on the day of 
maturity, and paid rather than compromise the forger ; 
another by himself burning his factory or his ships, 
insured beyond their value ; another by tearing up and 
throwing into the fire the notes he snatched from 
his creditor’s hands on the day of payment ; another 
by gambling at the Bourse with the intention of not 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


105 


paying if he lost, and, in fact, by refusing to pay, 
which did not prevent him from enriching himself, a 
week afterwards, at the expense of some dupe.” 

M. de Oirousse’s breath failed him. He maintained 
a long silence, allowing his anger to cool. Then his 
lips again opened and his smile was less bitter: 

“ I am somewhat of a misanthrope,” said he, mildly, 
to Marius, who had listened to him with pain and sur- 
prise ; “ I see everything in sombre colors. The reason 
is that the idleness to which my title condemns me has 
permitted me to study the pollutions of this district. 
But know that there are some honest people among us; 
if they would rise in a body, they could easily crush 
the scoundrels. I pray God every night that this civil 
war of virtue against vice may break out at an early 
day. As for you, count only upon the equity of the 
magistracy ; you will find in it a firm support, inde- 
pendent and loyal. Its members do not crawl like 
slaves at the bidding of the rich and powerful. I have 
always had for the magistracy a fanatical respect, for it 
is the representative of truth and justice on earth.” 

Marius took leave of M. de Girousse, altogether 
overwhelmed by the fiery words he had heard. He 
foresaw that his brother would be pitilessly con- 
victed. The commencement of the proceedings was 
set down for the following day. 


106 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER X. 


PHILIPPE’S TRIAL 


LL Aix was excited. Gossip bursts out with 



JlX. strange energy in those quiet little towns, where 
the curiosity of the idlers has not each day a new 
aliment. Nothing was talked of but Philippe and 
Blanche ; the adventures of the young lovers were 
related in the open street ; it was loudly asserted that 
the accused was convicted in advance, and that M. 
de Cazalis had, either personally or through his friends, 
demanded his conviction of each juror. 

The clergy of Aix lent its support to the deputy, 
feebly enough, it is true ; that clergy then contained 
eminent and honorable men to whom promoting an 
injustice was repugnant. A few priests, nevertheless, 
yielded to the influence coming from the religious 
society of Marseilles, of which the Abb^ Donad^i was, 
so to speak, the master. These priests strove by visits 
and shrewd proceedings to bind the hands of the 
magistracy, the upright and Arm spirit of which was 
feared. They succeeded only in persuading the jurors 
that the cause of M. de Cazalis was holy. 

The nobility strongly aided them in this task. They 
believed themselves in honor bound to crush Philippe 
Cayol. They regarded him as a personal enemy, who 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 107 


had dared to make a criminal attempt against the 
dignity of one of their number, and who had thus 
insulted them in a body. To see the comtes and 
marquises agitate themselves, get angry and unite 
together, one would have thought that the foemen 
were at the gates of the town. The matter in hand 
was simply to cause the conviction of a poor devil, 
guilty of love and ambition. 

Philippe also had friends and defenders. Ally the 
people declared frankly for him. The lower classes 
blamed his conduct, censured the means he had 
employed, and said that he would have done better 
to have loved and wedded the daughter of some plain 
citizen like himself; but, while condemning his actions, 
they noisily defended him against the pride and hatred 
of M. de Cazalis. It was known in the town that 
Blanche, before the Juge dTnstruction, had denied her 
love, and the girls of the people, true Proven^ales, 
that is to say devoted and courageous, treated her with 
insulting contempt. They called her “the renegade;” 
they assigned infamous motives for her conduct, and 
did not hesitate to cry out their opinion in the public 
squares, in the energetic language of the streets. 

This noise singularly compromised Philippe’s cause. 
The entire town was in the secret of the drama which 
was about to be played. Those who were interested 
in having the accused convicted did not even take the 
trouble to conceal their proceedings, being certain of 
their triumph ; those who wished to save Marius’ 
brother, feeling themselves weak and disarmed, found 


108 THE MY^TEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


solace in shouting, happy to irritate the powerful 
people whom they had no hope of conquering. 

M. de Cazalis had, without shame, dragged his niece 
to Aix. During the first days, he took a proud delight 
in exhibiting her upon the Cours. He protested thus 
against the idea of disgrace which the crowd attached 
to the young girl’s fiight ; he seemed to say to all : 
‘‘ You see that a clown cannot harm a Cazalis. My 
niece still towers above you from the height of her 
title and her fortune ! ” 

But he could not long continue such promenades. 
The crowd grew angry at his attitude ; it insulted 
Blanche, and was on the point of hurling stones at 
the uncle and niece. The women especially showed 
exasperation ; thej" did not comprehend that the young 
girl was not altogether to be blamed and that she was 
simply obeying an iron will. 

Blanche trembled at the popular fury. She bowed 
her head that she might not see those women who 
glared at her with fiery eyes. She was conscious of 
gestures of contempt behind her ; she heard horrible 
words which she did not understand, and her limbs 
quaked beneath her; she clung to her uncle’s arm 
that she might not fall. Pale and quivering, she 
returned to her dwelling one day, declaring that she 
would go out no more. 

The poor child was about to become a mother. 

Finally, the proceedings began. From early in the 
morning, the doors of the Palais-de- Justice were 
besieged; groups formed in the midst of the Place 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 109 


des Preclieurs, gesticulating and talking in loud tones. 
People grew noisy over the probable issue of the trial; 
they discussed the culpability of Philippe and the 
attitude of M. de Cazalis and Blanche. 

The court-room filled up slowly. Several rows of 
chairs had been added for persons provided with tick- 
ets ; these persons were so numerous that nearly all of 
them were compelled to stand. In the crush were to 
be seen the flower of the nobility, lawyers, officials — in 
short, all the notable personages of Aix. Never had 
an accused drawn such an audience. When the doors 
were opened to allow the general public to enter, only 
a few curious persons were able to get in. The others 
were obliged to stand in the door-ways, in the lobbies 
and even upon the steps of the Palais. And every 
instant there arose from that crowd murmurs and 
shouts, the sound of which penetrated into the court- 
room and was augmented there, disturbing the tran- 
quil majesty of the place. 

The ladies had invaded the gallery. They formed 
up there a compact mass of anxious and smiling faces. 
Those who were on the first row fanned themselves, 
leaned over, allowing their gloved hands to rest upon 
the red velvet of the balustrade. Behind them, in the 
partial obscurity, mounted packed rows of rosy faces, 
the bodies belonging to which could not be seen. 
These rosy faces were as if buried in the midst of 
laces, ribbons, silks and satins ; here and there sparkled 
the sudden flash of a jewel, when one of the heads 
was turned. And from that noisy and garrulous 


110 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


crowd fell pearly laughter, soft words and sharp little 
cries. These ladies were at a play. 

When Philippe Cayol was brought in, there was a 
sudden silence. All the ladies devoured him with 
their eyes ; some of them pointed opera-glasses at 
him, examining him from head to foot. This tall fel- 
low, whose energetic features announced violent appe- 
tites, had a quiet success. The women, who had come 
to judge of Blanche’s taste, doubtless thought the 
young girl less guilty when they saw the lofty stature 
and bright looks of her lover. 

Philippe’s attitude was calm and appropriate. He 
was clad wholly in black. He seemed to ignore the 
presence of the two gendarmes who were beside him ; 
he straightened himself and sat down with the grace 
of a man of the world. Occasionally he glanced at 
the crowd, tranquilly and without effrontery. He 
several times raised his eyes to the gallery, and, each 
time, smiled tenderly in spite of himself ; his incor- 
rigible habits of loving and wishing to please resumed 
possession of him, even in the face of justice. 

The bill of indictment was read. 

This document was very severe on the accused. In 
it the facts, according to the depositions of M. de Caz- 
alis and his niece, were stated in an able and terrible 
manner. It was -asserted that the young girl had been 
abducted by violence, that she had clung to an almond 
tree, and that, during the entire flight, the abductor 
had been compelled to employ intimidation to cause his 
victim to follow him. Finally, a most serious matter 


THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Ill 


was brought forward on the affirmation of Mile, de 
Cazalis: she claimed that she had never written to 
Philippe, and that the two letters presented by the 
accused were antedated letters which he had forced 
her to write at Lambesc as a precautionary measure. 

When the reading of the bill of indictment was 
finished, the court-room was filled with a noisy mur- 
mur of conversation. Each person, before coming to 
the Palais, had a version of the affair, and the official 
recital was discussed in partially subdued voices. Out- 
side, the crowd uttered veritable howls. The Presi- 
dent threatened to order the court-room cleared, and 
silence was gradually re-established. 

The questioning of Philippe Cayol was then pro- 
ceeded with. 

When the President had asked him the customary 
questions and had repeated to him the points of the 
accusation against him, the young man, without argu- 
ment, said, in a clear voice : 

“ I am accused of having been abducted by a young 
girl ! ” 

These words made the spectators smile. The ladies 
hid behind their fans to enjoy the joke at their ease. 
But Philippe’s phrase, altogether foolish and absurd as 
it seemed, contained, nevertheless, the exact truth. 
The President remarked that the abduction of a man 
of thirty by a young girl of sixteen was something 
unheard of. 

“Neither have you ever heard,” replied Philippe, 
tranquilly, “of a young girl of sixteen passing along 


112 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


the public highways, traversing towns, meeting hun- 
dreds of persons and not thinking of summoning 
the first passer to deliver her from her jailer ! ” 

And he proceeded to show the utter impossibility of 
the violence and intimidation of which he was accused. 
At each hour of the day, Blanche had been free to quit 
him, to demand aid and relief; if she followed him, it 
Avas because she loved him, because she had con- 
sented to the flight and marriage. Besides, Philippe 
displayed the greatest tenderness for the young girl 
and the greatest deference for M. de Cazalis. He 
admitted his errors ; he merely asked that they should 
not make him out a base abductor. 

The court was adjourned until the following day, 
which was set apart for hearing the statements of the 
witnesses. 

That evening, the town was in confusion ; the ladies 
spoke of Philippe with affected indignation, the grave 
men treated him with more or less severity and the 
masses defended him with energy. 

The next day, the crowd at the doors of the Palais- 
de- Justice was larger and noisier than before. The 
witnesses were nearly all witnesses for the prosecu- 
tion. M. de Girousse had not been summoned ; they 
feared the rude freedom of his wit, and, besides, he 
should rather have been arrested as an accomplice. 
Marius himself had begged him not to compromise 
himself in the case. He, like his adversaries, feared 
the violent spirit of the old comte, who by a whim 
might spoil everything. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 113 


There was but one deposition in favor of Philippe, 
that of the Lambesc inn-keeper, who declared that 
Blanche gave her companion the title of husband. 
This deposition was effaced, so to speak, by those of 
the other witnesses. Marguerite, the milkmaid, stam- 
mered and said that she could not recall having carried 
Mile, de Cazalis’ letters to the accused. Thus all the 
witnesses but one served the deput3^’s interests, either 
through fear or stupidity and lack of memory. 

The speeches began and necessitated another session. 
Philippe’s lawyer defended him with appropriate sim- 
plicit3\ He did not seek to excuse that which was 
culpable in his client’s conduct; he represented him 
as an ardent and ambitious man, who had allowed 
himself to be led astray b3" hopes of wealth and love. 
But, at the same time, he maintained that the accused 
could not be convicted of abduction, and that the 
iiSdir in itself excluded all idea of violence and intimi- 
dation. 

The speech of the Procureur du Roi was terrible. 
The defence had counted upon a certain mildness, and 
the official’s energetic accusations produced a disastrous 
effect. The jury brought in a verdict of guilty. 
Philippe was sentenced to an imprisonment of five 3^ears 
and to be publicly exposed in one of the squares of 
Marseilles. The gardener Ayasse was sent to prison 
for a few months only. 

A confused tumult arose in the court-room. With- 
out, the crowd muttered. 

7 


114 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XL 

BLANCHE AND FINE FACE TO FACE. 

B lanche, hidden in the depths of the gallery, 
heard Philippe sentenced. She was there by 
order of her uncle, who wished to crush out whatever 
tenderness might be lingering in her by showing her 
her lover between two gendarmes like a thief. An 
aged female relative had been instructed to take her 
to this edifying spectacle. 

As the two ladies were waiting for their carriage on 
the steps of the Palais, the crowd, precipitating itself 
from the building, suddenly separated them. Blanche, 
dragged into the middle of the Place des Precheurs, 
was recognized by the huckster women, who began to 
shout at and insult her. 

“It is she, it is she!” cried these women. “The 
renegade, the renegade ! ” 

The poor child, dismayed, not knowing where to 
flee, was dying with shame and fear, when a young 
girl with a powerful push scattered the howling group 
which surrounded her and planted herself at her side. 
It was Fine. 

The flower-girl also had witnessed the conviction of 
Philippe. For nearly three hours, she had endured 
all the agonies of hope and fear; the speech of the 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 115 


Procureur du Roi had overwhelmed her, and she had 
wept frantically on hearing the sentence pronounced. 

She was leaving the Palais, irritated and terribly 
excited, when she heard the shouts of the huckster 
women. She comprehended that Blanche was there 
and that she could take vengeance by abusing her; 
she ran towards the spot, her fists clenched, with in- 
sults on her lips. In her eyes, the young girl was the 
greatest culprit: she had lied; she had perjured herself 
and committed a cowardly act. At these thoughts, all 
Fine’s plebeian blood mounted to her face and urged 
her to cry out and strike. 

She precipitated herself upon the crowd ; she scat- 
tered it to seize upon her prey. 

But when she stood before Blanche, when she saw 
her bent with terror, the quivering and feeble child 
filled her with pity. She found her so young, so pretty 
and so delicately fragile that a generous thought of 
pardon took possession of her heart. With a violent 
gesture she drove back the women who were shaking 
their fists at the trembling girl, and, straightening her- 
self up, cried, in a loud, sharp voice: 

‘‘Are you not ashamed of yourselves? She is alone, 
and you are a hundred against her! God has no need 
of your howls to punish her! Let us pass!” 

She had taken Blanche’s hand and, in her rage, 
firmly faced the crowd which murmured and came 
closer together to bar the passage of the two young 
girls. Fine waited, her lips pale and trembling. And, 
as she reassured her companion with a glance, she saw 


116 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


that she was about to become a mother. She grew 
wl;ite as a sheet, and, striding towards the women in 
the first row, said, in a louder tone : 

“ Let us pass, I say ! Do you not see the poor girl's 
condition, wretches, and that you will kill her child ! ” 

She repulsed a gross huckster who was sneering. 
All the other women drew back. Fine’s words had 
suddenly rendered them silent and compassionate. 
The young girls retired between two hedges of women, 
among whom ran vague murmurs of regret. Blanche, 
red with shame, clung with fear to her companion and 
feverishly hastened her steps. 

The flower-girl, to avoid the Rue du Pont-Moreau, 
then full of people and noise, took the little Rue Saint- 
Jean. On reaching the Cours, she led Mile, de Cazalis 
to her hotel, the door of which was open. During the 
walk, she had not uttered a word. 

Blanche forced her to enter the vestibule, and there, 
partially closing the door and almost going upon her 
knees, she said, in a voice full of emotion : 

“ Oh ! Mademoiselle, I thank you with all my soul 
for having come to my rescue ! Those wicked women 
would have murdered me ! ” 

“ Do not thank me,” answered Fine, roughly. “ I 
came like the rest to insult you, to beat you ! ” 

“ You ! ” 

“Yes. I hate you; I wish you had died in your 
cradle ! ” 

Blanche stared at the flower-girl with astonishment. 
She drew herself up ; her aristocratic instincts rebelled 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 117 


and her lips grew slightly pale with disdain. The two 
young girls stood face to face, the one with all her 
frail grace, the other in her fresh and energetic beauty. 
They contemplated each other silently, feeling surge 
in them the rivalry of their classes and hearts. 

“You are beautiful, you are rich,” resumed Fine, 
bitterly ; “ why did you steal my lover from me, when 
you knew that in the end 3^011 must despise and hate 
him? You should have sought in your own sphere; 
3^ou should have found a stripling as pale and as cow- 
ardly as 3"ourself, who would have satislied your little 
girl’s love. See here : if 3^ou aristocrats take our men, 
we will tear 3"our pink and white faces for you ! ” 

“I do not understand you,” stammered Blanche, 
again seized by fear. 

“ You do not understand me ! Listen, then : I 
loved Monsieur Philippe. He bought roses of me 
every morning, and my heart beat as if it would burst 
Avhen I gave him my bouquets. I know now where 
those flowers went. I was told one day that he had 
fled with 3"bu. I wept; then I thought 3'ou loved him 
and that he would be happy. But you have put him 
in prison. Let us not speak of that, or I shall get 
angry and strike 3’ou ! ” 

She paused, panting; then she continued, going 
close up to the girl, burning with her hot breath 
Blanche’s icy cheeks : 

“You do not know how we poor girls love. We 
love with all our flesh, with all our courage. When 
we elope with a man, we do not say afterwards that 


118 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


he took advantage of onr weakness. We clasp him 
tiglitly in our arms to protect him. Ah! if Monsieur 
Philippe had loved me, he would not have been 
betrayed I But I am an unhappy creature, a beggar, 
an ugly wretch ! ” 

And Fine began to sob, as weak as Mile, de Cazalis. 
The latter took her hand, and said, her voice broken 
by tears : 

“ In pit}^ do not accuse me I Will you be my friend 
— shall I open my heart to you? If you only knew 
how much I suflPer, )mu w’^ould have mercy. I can do 
nothing; I obey my uncle, who breaks me in his hands 
of iron. I know I am a coward ; but I have not the 
strength to be otherwise than cowardly. And I love 
Philippe ; he is always in my mind. Truly did he say 
to me : ‘ If you desert me, every hour of your life 

the remembrance of me will torment you, you will 
always feel on your lips the fiery stamp of my kisses, 
and that shall be your punishment I ’ He is here now; 
he burns me, he will kill me I Awhile ago, when he 
was sentenced, I felt something leap within me which 
shook me from head to foot and almost tore me to 
pieces. I am weeping — do you see ? I ask mercy of 
you.” 

All Fine’s anger had vanished ; she sustained 
Blanche, who was staggering. 

“You are right,” continued the poor child: “I do 
not deserve pity. I have stricken the man I love and 
he will love me no more. Ah I in mercy, if some day 
he should become your husband, tell him of my tears, 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 119 


ask him to forgive me. What drives me wild is that I 
can never convince him that I adore him ; he would 
laugh ; he could not comprehend the extent of my 
cowardice. No ; do not speak to him of me. Let 
him forget me — that will be best: I shall be the only 
one to weep.” 

There was a dolorous silence. 

“And your child?” asked Fine. 

“My child I” said Blanche, wildly. “I do not 
know what will become of it. My uncle will take it 
from me.” 

“Would you like me to be a mother to it?” 

The flower-girl uttered these words in a grave and 
tender voice. Mile, de Cazalis clasped her in her arms 
in a passionate embrace. 

“Oh! how good you are I You can love I Try to 
see me in Marseilles. When the time comes, I will 
trust in you.” 

At that moment, the aged female relative made her 
appearance, after having in vain searched for Blanche 
in the crowd. Fine withdrew quickly and hastened 
up the Cours. As she reached the Place des Carme- 
lites, she saw Marius in the distance, talking with 
Philippe’s lawyer. 

The young man was in despair. Never had he 
imagined that his brother could be sentenced to so 
severe a punishment. The imprisonment of five years 
terrified him ; but he was still more grievously over- 
whelmed by the thought of the public exposure in one 
of the squares of Marseilles. He saw the deputy’s 


120 THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


hand in this chastisement: M. de Cazalis wished, above 
all else, to disgrace Philippe, to render him forever 
unworthy of a woman’s love. 

Around Marius, the crowd cried out that injustice 
had been done ; the masses with one voice protested 
against the atrocity of the punishment. 

And as the young man, angry and hopeless, talked 
excitedly with the lawyer, a soft hand was placed upon 
his arm. He turned quickly and saw Fine beside him, 
calm and smiling. 

“ Hope and follow me,” said she to him, in a low 
voice. “ Your brother is saved ! ” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 121 

CHAPTER XIL 
fine’s strategy. 

^HILE Marius, before the trial, was fruitlessly 



T t scouring the town. Fine, on her side, was toil- 
ing away at the work of deliverance. She had under- 
taken a systematic campaign against the conscience of 
her uncle, the jailer Revert^gat. 

She had installed herself at his house; she spent 
the days in the prison. She sought from morning till 
night to make herself useful, to cause herself to be 
adored by her relative, who lived alone, like a growl- 
ing bear, with his two little daughters. She attacked 
him through his paternal love ; she charmingly cajoled 
the children ; she expended all her savings for play- 
things, sugar-plums and toilet gewgaws. The little 
ones were not in the habit of being indulged ; they 
acquired a noisy tenderness for their big cousin, who 
danced them on her knees and distributed such hand- 
some and good things. The father was touched; he 
thanked Fine effusively. 

Despite himself, he yielded to the penetrating influ- 
ence of the young girl. He grumbled when it was 
necessary for him to leave the room in which she was. 
The flower-girl seemed to have brought with her the 
sweet odor of her flowers, the freshness of her roses 


122 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


and violets. The jailer’s lodge had been delightfully 
perfumed from the moment of her arrival, when she 
tripped into it, gay and sprightly; her bright skirts 
appeared to scatter there light, air and gayety. Every- 
thing smiled now in the gloomy apartment, and Rever- 
tegat said, with a hearty laugh, that spring had come 
to live with him. The good man forgot himself amid 
the caressing effluvia of that spring; his heart soft- 
ened and, little b}^ little, he laid aside the roughness 
and severity incident to his vocation. 

Fine was too shrewd a girl not to play her role with 
sly prudence. She did nothing hastily; step by step, 
she led him to pity and lenity. Then, she expressed 
compassion for Philippe in his presence; she forced 
him to declare with his own lips that the young man 
was unjustly kept in prison. When she held Revert^- 
gat in her hands, supple and submissive, she asked him 
if she could not visit the cell of the poor fellow. The 
jailer dare not say no; he took his niece to the spot, 
allowed her to enter and remained at the door to keep 
watch. 

Fine stood like a simpleton before Philippe. She 
stared at him, confused and blushing, oblivious of 
what she wished to say. The young man recognized 
her and quickly approached her, with a tender and 
charmed air. 

“You here, my dear child ! ” cried he. “Ah! how 
kind you are to come to see me. Will you allow me 
to kiss your hand ? ” 

Surely, Philippe thought himself in his little apart- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


123 


ment on the Rue Sainte, and, perhaps, he was not far 
from dreaming of a new adventure. The flower-girl, 
surprised, almost wounded, withdrev/ her hand and 
gravely looked at Blanche’s lover. 

‘‘ You are out of your senses. Monsieur Philippe,” 
answered she. “You know well enough that, in my 
eyes, you are now married. Let us speak of serious 
things.” 

She lowered her voice and continued, rapidly: 

“ The jailer is my uncle, and, for over a week, I 
have been working for your deliverance. I wished to 
see you to tell you that your friends have not forgotten 
you. Hope ! ” 

Philippe, on hearing these welcome words, regretted 
his gallant reception of his visitor. 

“ Give me your hand,” said he, in an agitated voice. 
“ I ask it as a friend, who wishes to grasp it like an 
old comrade. Do you pardon me?” 

The flower-girl smiled, without answering his ques- 
tion. 

“ I think,” resumed she, “ that I can soon throw the 
door wide open for you. When will you make your 
escape ? ” 

“Make my escape! But I shall be acquitted. What 
is the use of flight I If I escaped, I should declare by 
that very action that I am guilty ! ” 

Fine had not thought of that. In her view, Phi- 
lippe was convicted in advance ; but, all things con- 
sidered, he was right: they should wait until after 
the trial. As she maintained silence, pensive and 


124 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


irresolute, Revert^gat gave two little knocks upon the 
door to ask her to quit the cell. 

“Well,” continued she, addressing the prisoner, 
“ hold yourself in readiness. If you are convicted, 
your brother and I v/ill arrange your flight. Have 
confidence.” 

She witlidrew, leaving Philippe almost in love with 
her. Now she had time before her in which to win 
over her uncle. She continued to pursue her strategy, 
amazing the dear man by her kindness and her grace, 
exciting his pity in regard to the prisoner’s lot. She 
brought into the conspiracy her two little cousins, who, 
at a word from her, would have quitted their father to 
follow her. One evening, after having softened Rever- 
t^gat by all the cajoleries she could invent, she at last 
asked him squarely for Philippe’s freedom. 

“Pardieu!” cried the jailer, “if the matter rested 
only with me, I would at once open the door for 
him ! ” 

“ But it does rest only with you, uncle ! ” answered 
Fine, frankly. 

“Ah! you think so, do you? If I allowed him to 
escape, I should lose my place to-morrow and die of 
hunger with my two daughters.” 

These words rendered the flower-girl serious. 

“But,” resumed she, an instant afterwards, “what 
if I gave you money, if I loved this young man and 
if I begged you with clasped hands to give him up to 
me ? ” 

“You 1 you I” cried the jailer, in astonishment. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 125 

He had arisen ; he stared at his niece to make sure 
that she was in earnest. When he saw her grave and 
moved, he bowed his head, conquered, softened, con- 
senting with a gesture. 

‘‘ Ma foi ! ” said he, “ in that case, I would do as you 
wished. You are too good and too pretty a girl to be 
refused ! ” 

Fine embraced him and spoke of something else. 
Now, she was certain of victory. At various times, 
she resumed the conversation; she accustomed Rever- 
tegat to the idea of allowing Philippe to escape. She 
did not wish to bring her relative to want, and, at first, 
offered him a recompense of fifteen thousand francs. 
This offer dazzled the jailer; from that instant, he 
surrendered himself to her, bound hand and foot. 

And this was why Fine had been able to say to 
Marius, with her cunning smile : ‘‘ Follow me. Your 
brother is saved ! ” 

She took the young man to the prison. On the way, 
she related to him all the details of her campaign ; she 
told him how, little by little, she had won over her 
uncle. Marius’ upright soul at first revolted at the 
recital of this comedy; it was repugnant to him to 
think that his brother would owe his safety to flight, to 
the purchase of a conscience. The idea of duty was 
so deeply rooted in him that he felt a certain shame at 
the proposal to pay Revert^gat to betray the trust that 
had been reposed in him. Then he thought of the 
intrigues employed by M. de Cazalis ; he said to him- 
self that, after all, he would only be using the same 
weapons as his adversaries, and he grew calm. 


126 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


He thanked Fine in a touching way; he knew not 
how to show her his gratitude. The young girl, happy 
in her excited joy, scarcely heard his protestations of 
indebtedness. 

They could not see Revert^gat until evening. The 
jailer, at the first words of the conversation, showed 
Marius his two little daughters, who were playing in a 
corner of the room. 

“ Monsieur,” he simply said, “ there is my excuse. I 
would not ask for a sou, if I had not those children to 
keep.” 

This scene was painful to Marius. He shortened it 
as much as possible. He knew that the jailer yielded 
at once to interest and devotedness, and, if he could 
not despise him, he felt ill at ease in making such a 
bargain with him. 

However, all was settled in a few minutes. Marius 
stated that he would depart the following morning for 
Marseilles, and that he would bring back with him the 
fifteen thousand francs promised by Fine. He counted 
upon drawing them from his banker; his mother had 
left fifty thousand francs, which were deposited with 
M. B4rard, whose house was one of the strongest and 
best known in the city. It was decided that the 
flower-girl should remain at Aix, and there await the 
young man’s return. 

He departed, full of hope, already seeing his brother 
free. As he quitted the diligence at Marseilles, he 
received unexpected and terrible news which crushed 
him. The banker B^rard had just failed. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


127 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A SCOUNDRELLY BANKRUPT. 

M arius hastened to the banker’s office. He could 
not believe the sinister news, for he had the faith 
of honest hearts. On the way, he said to himself that 
the rumors which were in circulation were, perhaps, 
only calumnies, and he cherished wild hopes. The 
loss of his fortune at this moment was the loss of his 
brother; it seemed to him that chance could not be so 
cruel to him ; the public must be deceived ; B^rard 
would pay him his money. He must see with his own 
eyes to be convinced. 

When he entered the banking-house, cold anguish 
seized upon his heart. He saw the terrible reality. 
The rooms were vacant ; the vast apartments, deserted 
and still, with their closed gratings and their bare 
desks, appeared funereal to him. A fortune which 
crumbles away leaves a sad desolation behind it. A 
vague odor of ruin escaped from the pasteboard boxes, 
from the papers and from the safe. Seals spread 
everywhere their white bands and their huge bits of 
red wax. 

Marius passed through three rooms without finding 
any one. He at last discovered a clerk, who had come 
to take from a desk some articles belonging to him. 


128 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


This clerk told him in a rough tone that M. B^rard 
was in his office. 

The young man entered, trembling, forgetting to 
close the door. He perceived the banker, who was 
tranquilly at work writing letters, arranging papers 
and adjusting accounts. This man, still young, tall, 
with a handsome and intelligent face, was dressed with 
exquisite taste; he wore rings on his fingers; he had 
a polite and rich air. He looked as if freshly arrayed 
to receive his^ customers and personally explain to 
them his disaster. 

Besides, his attitude seemed courageous. He was a 
resigned victim of circumstances, or, rather, an arrant 
scoundrel who would get out of a scrape by dint 
of audacity. 

On seeing Marius enter, he assumed an air of com- 
punction ; he looked his customer squarely in the face, 
and his countenance expressed a sort of honest sorrow. 

‘‘I expected you, my dear Monsieur,” said he, in 
an agitated voice. “ You see that I am waiting for all 
those whose ruin I have caused. I will have courage 
to the end ; I wish every one to see that I have noth- 
ing to be ashamed of.” 

He placed a ledger on his desk and opened it with a 
certain affectation. 

“Here are my accounts,” continued he. “My obli- 
gations foot up a million and my assets a million, five 
hundred thousand francs. The court will arrange 
matters, and I hope my creditors will not suffer too 
heavy a loss. I am the first to feel the blow : I have 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


129 


lost my fortune and my credit ; I have allowed myself 
to be outrageously robbed by insolvent debtors.” 

Marius had not yet uttered a word. In the presence 
of B^rard’s dejected calmness, in the presence of this 
mise-en-scene of austere grief, he could not find in his 
heart a single cry of reproach, a single indignant and 
furious syllable. He almost pitied this man who thus 
faced the storm. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, at length, “ why did you not 
notify me when you saw your affairs becoming entan- 
gled and going wrong? My mother was a friend of 
your mother, and, in remembrance of our old relations, 
you should have caused me to withdraw from your 
house the money you were about to involve. Your 
ruin to-day strips me of everything and plunges me in 
despair.” 

B^rard advanced hurriedly and seized Marius’ 
hands. 

“ Do not say that ! ” cried he, in a piteous tone ; 
“ do not overwhelm me ! Ah ! you little know what 
cruel regrets are rending me ! When I saw the gulf, 
I strove to cling to the tree branches ; I struggled ; 
until the last moment, I hoped to save the amounts 
deposited with me. You cannot imagine what terrible 
risks those who handle money run ! ” 

Marias was speechless. What could he say to this 
man who excused himself by heaping accusations upon 
his own head? He had no proofs; he dare not call 
B^rard a swindler; his only course was to retire 
quietly. Besides, the banker spoke in a voice so 
8 


130 


THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


woeful, in a fashion so touching and so frank, that 
he almost felt compassion for him. He hastened to 
withdraw in order to leave him in peace. His mis- 
fortune oppressed him. 

As he was returning through the empty rooms, the 
clerk, who had finished his preparations for the removal 
of his effects, took up his bundle and hat and followed 
him. This clerk sneered between his teeth, and, at 
each step, stared at Marius with a strange air, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. Outside, on the pavement, he 
suddenly addressed him : 

‘‘Well,” said he, “what do you think of the Sieur 
B^rard ? He is a capital actor, is he not ? The office 
door was left open ; I laughed heartily to see his dis- 
consolate looks. He nearly wept, the honest man. 
Allow me to tell you. Monsieur, that you have per- 
mitted yourself to be duped in the most polite 
fashion ! ” 

“ I do not understand you,” answered Marius. 

“So much the better; that proves you to be an 
upright and just man. As for me, I quit this swin- 
dling shop with profound joy. For a long time I sus- 
pected what was going to happen ; I foresaw the 
denouement of this high comedy of robbery. I have 
a remarkably keen scent for discovering intrigues 
in a house.” 

“ Explain yourself.” 

“ Oh ! the story is a simple one. I can relate it to 
you in a few words : Ten years ago, B^rard opened a 
banking-house. To-day, I doubt not that from the 


THE MYSTEHIES OF MARSEILLES. 131 

first he was preparing for a failure. This is the way 
he reasoned : ‘ I wish to be rich because I have strong 
appetites, and I desire to get rich as soon as possible 
because I am eager to satisfy my appetites. Now, the 
straight road is rough and long ; I prefer to follow the 
by-ways of trickery and gather up my million in ten 
years. I will become a banker ; I will have a safe as 
a trap for the funds of the public. Each year, I will 
steal a round sum. This can go on as long as neces- 
sary; I will stop when my pockets are full. Then, I 
will calmly suspend payment. Of two millions, which 
shall have been confided to me, I will generously 
restore two or three hundred thousand francs to 
my creditors. The rest, hidden in a little corner I 
know of, will help me to live as I desire, in idleness 
and pleasure ! ’ Now, do you understand, my dear 
Monsieur? ” 

Marius heard the clerk with stupefaction. 

“But,’^ said he, “what you tell me is impossible. 
B<^rard this instant informed me that his obligations 
foot up a million and his assets a million, five hundred 
thousand francs I We shall all be repaid in full ; it is 
merely a matter of patience.” 

The clerk gave vent to a torrent of laughter. 

“ All ! mon Dieu ! how innocent you are ! ” resumed 
he. “Do you really believe in those assets of a mil- 
lion, five hundred thousand francs? In the first place, 
they will deduct Madame B^rard’s dowry from that 
sura. Now, Madame Berard brought fifty thousand 
francs to her husband, which the latter has trans- 


132 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

formed, in the marriage contract, into five hundred 
thousand francs. As you see, it was a little steal of 
four hundred and fifty thousand francs. A million 
remains, and that million is almost entirely represented 
by worthless notes. The process of getting such notes 
is exceedingly simple. There are, in Marseilles, peo- 
ple who, for a hundred sous, sell their signatures ; this 
easy and lucrative trade brings them in a good living. 
Berard has had a pile of notes signed by these men of 
straw, and has pocketed the money which he claims 
to-day to have loaned insolvent debtors. If you get a 
dividend of ten per cent, you may consider yourself 
fortunate. And that in eighteen months or two years, 
when the bankruptcy official shall have finished his 
labors.” 

Marius was crushed. Thus the fifty thousand 
francs, left him by his mother, would dwindle to a 
ridiculous sum, of no use whatever to him. He must 
have money immediately, and he was told he would 
have to wait two years. And his ruin and despair 
were the work of a scoundrel who had just made a 
fool of him. Anger took possession of him. 

‘‘This Berard is a rascal,” said he, indignantly. 
“He will be vigorously pursued. We should rid 
society of these crafty men who enrich themselves by 
the ruin of others. The jail awaits them.” 

Again the clerk indulged in a burst of laughter. 

“ Berard,” answered he, “ will, perhaps, be sent to 
prison for a couple of weeks. That’s all. You are 
once more failing to comprehend me ! Listen.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 133 


The two young men had remained standing upon 
the sidewalk. The passers pushed against them. 
They returned to the vestibule of the banking-house. 

“ You say that the jail awaits B^rard,” continued the 
clerk. “The jail awaits only awkward people. During 
the ten years he has been maturing and caressing 
his failure, our man has taken his precautions ; such 
infamy as his is a work of art. His accounts are cor- 
rect, and he has put the law on his side. He knows in 
advance the slight risks he runs. The court can at 
most reproach him with too heavy personal expenses ; 
he will be accused, besides, of having put in circula- 
tion a large number of promissory notes, a ruinous 
method of procuring money. But these faults entail 
only a derisory punishment. As I have already told 
you, B^rard will be sent to prison for two weeks or a 
month at most.” 

“ But,” exclaimed Marius, “ cannot one proclaim 
this man’s crime in the open street, prove his infamy 
and cause his conviction ? ” 

“ No, that cannot be done ! There are no proofs, I 
tell you. Besides, B^rard has not lost his time ; he 
has foreseen everything ; he has made powerful friends 
in Marseilles, thinking that he would, doubtless, some 
day need their influence. Now, in this city of clubs, 
he is a sort of inviolable personage ; if one should 
touch a single hair of his head, all his friends would 
cry out with grief and rage. He can, at the utmost, 
be imprisoned a brief period for form’s sake. When 
he is set at liberty, he will unearth his little million, 


134 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


display his luxury and easily create for himself a new 
esteem. Then you will meet him in his carriage, 
reclining upon cushions, and the wheels of his caleche 
will splash mud over you ; you will see him, indifferent 
and idle, keeping an expensive house and enjoying all 
the pleasures of existence. And, to worthily crown 
his success as a robber, people will bow to him, love 
him and open for him a new credit of honor and 
consideration.” 

Marius kept a ferocious silence. The clerk made 
him a slight bow and said, as he was about to 
depart : 

“ It is thus that the farce is played. I had all this 
on my heart, and am glad I met you and relieved 
myself. Now, a word of good advice : Keep secret 
what I have just told you, bid adieu to your money 
and do not bother yourself any further about this 
wretched affair. Reflect, and you will see that I am 
right. Farewell.” 

Marius was alone. A furious desire seized upon 
him to return to B^rard’s office and slap him in the 
face. All his instincts of justice and probity revolted 
and urged him to drag the banker into the street, pro- 
claiming his crime. Then disgust succeeded his fury; 
he thought of his poor mother, shamefully cheated by 
this man, and from that instant felt only a crushing 
contempt for him. He followed the clerk’s advice ; he 
strode away from the banking-house, striving to forget 
that he had had money and that a thief had stolen it 
from him. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


135 - 


In due time, all the clerk’s predictions were fulfilled 
point by point. Berard was sentenced for simple 
failure to a month’s imprisonment. A year later, his 
countenance rosy, his bearing easy and insolent, he 
displayed throughout Marseilles his joyous, rich man’s 
whims. He clinked his gold in the clubs, the restau- 
rants and the theatres — everywhere, in fact, where 
pleasures were to be bought. And, upon his path, 
he always found toadies or dupes who bowed to the 
very ground before him. 


136 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A DEFAULTER. 

M arius went mechanically to the harbor. He 
walked straight on, not knowing whither his 
feet led him. He was as if stupefied. A single idea 
surged in his empty head, and that idea repeated, like 
the murmur of a bell, that he must have fifteen thou- 
sand francs at once. He cast around him that vague 
look of hopeless people ; he seemed to search the 
street to see if he could not find between two paving- 
stones the sum he needed. 

At the harbor, a desire for wealth came to him. The 
merchandise heaped up along the quays, the ships 
which brought in fortunes, the noise and the stir of 
the crowd which was making money irritated him. 
Never before had he felt his poverty. For a moment 
he was envious, rebellious and full of jealous bitter- 
ness. He asked himself why he was poor, why others 
were rich. 

And constantly the sound of the bell murmured in 
his head. Fifteen thousand francs ! fifteen thousand 
francs ! The very thought of them nearly burst his 
skull. He could not return with empty hands. His 
brother was waiting for him. He had only a few 
hours to save him from infamy. And he could find 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 137 


nothing; his benumbed intelligence did not furnish 
him with a single practicable idea. He twisted in 
his powerlessness; he racked his mind vainly; he 
struggled with rage and anxiety. 

Never would he have dared to ask his employer, 
M. Martelly, for fifteen thousand francs. His salary 
was too small to guarantee such a loan. Besides, he 
knew the ship-owner’s rigid principles, and feared his 
reproaches should he admit to him that he wished to 
buy a conscience. M. Martelly would indignantly 
refuse him the money. 

Suddenly, an idea came to Marius. He would not 
discuss it with himself, and started in hot haste for his 
apartment on the Rue Sainte. 

In the same house, upon the same landing as him- 
self, dwelt a young employ^, named Charles Bl^try. 
Bl^try w’as attached as cashier to the soap manufactory 
of MM. Daste et Degans. The two young men being 
neighbors, a sort of intimacy had arisen between them. 
Marius had been won by Charles’ gentleness; Bl^try 
was an assiduous frequenter of the churches, his con- 
duct was exemplary and he seemed to be of the highest 
probity. 

For two years, however, he had indulged in heavy 
expenses. He had introduced veritable sumptuous- 
ness into his little apartment, purchasing carpets, 
hangings, mirrors and handsome furniture. Since 
this change, he had come in later at night and lived 
more luxuriously ; but he had always remained gentle 
and honest, tranquil and pious. 


138 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

At first, Marius had been astonished at his neigh- 
bor’s expenses; he could not comprehend how an 
employ^ on a salary of eighteen hundred francs could 
buy such costly things. But Charles had told him 
that he had recently come into an inheritance, and 
that he intended soon to give up his situation to live 
like a prosperous citizen. He had even put himself at 
his disposal, offering him his purse without restriction. 
Marius had refused. 

Now, he had thought of this offer. He was going 
to knock at Charles Bl^try’s door and ask him to save 
his brother. A loan of fifteen thousand francs would 
not, perhaps, embarrass that young man, who seemed 
to throw money out of the windows. Marius counted 
upon repaying him little by little, persuaded that his 
neighbor would grant him the necessary time. 

He did not find the clerk in his apartment on the 
Rue Sainte, and, as he was pressed, he determined to 
go to the soap manufactory of MM. Daste et Degans. 
This soap manufactory was situated on the Boulevard 
des Dames. 

When he reached it and asked for Charles Bl^try, 
it seemed to him that the people stared at him with 
a strange air. The workmen told him roughly to 
inquire of M. Daste, who was in his office. Marius, 
astonished at this reception, decided to go to the man- 
ufacturer. He found him in conference with three 
gentlemen, who stopped talking as he entered. 

“Can you tell me. Monsieur,” asked the young man, 
“if M. Charles B16try is at the manufactory?” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 139 


Daste exchanged a rapid glance with one of the 
persons present, a stout gentleman, grave and severe. 

M. Charles Bletiy will soon be here,” answered 
he. “ Be kind enough to wait for him. Are you one 
of his friends ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Marius, frankly. “lie lodges in the 
same house as myself. I have known him nearly three 
years.” 

Silence was maintained for a moment. The young 
man, thinking that his presence embarrassed the gen- 
tlemen, added, bowing and going towards the door : 

“ I thank you ; I will wait outside.” 

Then the stout gentleman leaned over and said some- 
thing in a low voice to the manufacturer. M. Daste 
stopped Marius with a gesture. 

“Remain, if you please,” said he. “Your presence 
may be useful to us. You ought to know Bl^ try’s 
habits ; you can, doubtless, give us some information 
in regard to him ! ” 

Marius, surprised and not understanding, made a 
gesture of hesitation. 

“ Pardon,” resumed M. Daste, with great politeness ; 
“ I see that my words amaze you.” 

He pointed to the stout gentleman and continued : 

“ Monsieur is the commissaire de police of the quar- 
ter, and I have just summoned him to arrest Charles 
Bl^try, who, in two years, has stolen from us sixty 
thousand francs ! ” 

Marius, on hearing Charles accused of robbery, 
understood everything. He explained to himself the 


140 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


young man’s reckless expenses. He thanked Heaven 
that he had not in the past accepted his offers of ser- 
vice. Never would he have believed that his neighbor 
could be guilty of a base action. He well knew that 
there were in Marseilles, as in all the great centres of 
industry, unworthy employes, young men who robbed 
their employers to satisfy their vices and their love of 
luxury; he had often heard of clerks who received a 
hundred or a hundred and fifty francs a month and 
who yet found the means to lose enormous sums at the 
clubs, to throw twenty-franc pieces to beggars and to 
eat at restaurants and caf^s. But Charles had seemed 
BO pious, so modest and so honest, and had played the 
role of hypocrite with so much art that Marius had 
been deceived by these appearances of probity and 
that he had his doubts even yet, despite M. Daste’s 
formal accusation. 

He sat down, awaiting the denouement of this 
drama. He could not do otherwise. For half an 
hour, a dull silence reigned in the office. The manu- 
facturer had begun to write. The commissaire de 
police and the two agents, mute and as if half asleep, 
gazed vaguely before them, with a terrible patience. 
Such a spectacle would have given honesty to Marius, 
had he lacked it. Nothing could have been more sin- 
ister than those three impassible men ; they looked 
like the inexorable law aw’aiting crime. 

A sound of footsteps was heard; the door opened 
gently. 

‘‘Here is our man,” said M. Daste, rising. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


141 


Charles Bl^try entered, suspecting nothing. He did 
not even notice the persons who were in the office. 

“ Do YOU wish to see me, Monsieur ? ” asked he, in 
that drawling tone which employes assume when 
speaking to their chiefs. 

As M. Daste looked him in the face with cutting 
contempt, he turned and saw the commissaire whom 
he knew sight. He grew frightfully pale ; fie real- 
ized that he was lost, and his whole body quivered 
with shame and fear. He had hurled himself head- 
long into a trap. Seeing that his terror accused him, 
he strove to appear calm, to recover a little coolness 
and audacity. 

‘‘ Yes, I wish to see you ! ” cried M. Daste, violently. 
‘‘You know why, do you not? Ah! wretch, you will 
rob me no more ! ” 

“I do not know what you mean,” stammered Bl^try. 
“I have stolen nothing from you. Of what do you 
accuse me ? ” 

The commissaire had seated himself at the manu- 
facturer’s desk to commit the facts of the case to 
writing. The two agents guarded the door. 

“Monsieur,” said the commissaire to Daste, “be 
kind enough to tell me under what circumstances you 
detected the defalcations which the Sieur Bl^try has, 
as you assert, committed to your detriment.” 

Daste then related the story of the robbery. He 
said that his cashier had sometimes been extraordina- 
rily slow in making certain returns. But, as he had 
unlimited confidence in the young man, he had attrib- 


142 THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 

uted these delays to the bad faith of the debtors. The 
first defalcations must have been made at least eighteen 
months before. Finally, on the preceding day, one of 
his customers having failed, Daste himself went to 
demand the payment of a sum of five thousand francs, 
and learned that Bletry had collected the amount 
several weeks previously. The manufacturer, fright- 
ened, hastily returned to the manufactory and con- 
vinced himself, by running over the cashier’s books, 
that he was nearly sixty thousand francs short. 

The commissaire afterwards proceeded to question 
Bletry. The young man, taken unawares and being 
unable to deny the facts, invented a ridiculous story. 

“ One day,” said he, I lost a pocket-book contain- 
ing forty thousand francs. I dared not admit this large 
loss to M. Daste. Then I began to take money to 
gamble at the Bourse, hoping to win and reimburse 
the firm.” 

The commissaire asked him for details, perplexed 
him and forced him to contradict himself. Bletry 
tried another lie. 

‘‘You are right,” resumed he: “I lost no pocket- 
book. I prefer to tell everything. The truth is that 
I myself was robbed. I lodged a young man who was 
without bread. One night, he vanished, carrying 
aw'ay with him my collection bag ; in that bag was a 
considerable sum of money.” 

“Do not aggravate your crime by lying,” said the 
commissaire, with that terrifying patience of the police 
authorities. “You know that we cannot believe you. 
You are telling us idle tales.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 143 

He turned towards Marius and continued : 

“I requested M. Daste to detain you, Monsieur, 
that you might aid us in our task. The accused is 
your neighbor, you said. Do you knoAV nothing of his 
manner of living? Can you not conjure him with us 
to tell the truth ? ’’ 

Marius was terribly embarrassed. Bl(5try filled him 
with pity; he staggered like a drunken man ; he sup- 
plicated him with a look. The young fellow was not 
a hardened rogue ; he had, without doubt, yielded to 
temptations, to cowardice of mind and heart. Nev- 
ertheless, Marius’ conscience made itself heard; it 
ordered him to tell what he knew. The young man 
did not reply directly to the commissaire; he preferred 
to address Bl^try himself. 

“ Listen, Charles,” said he : “I know not whether 
you are guilty or innocent. I have always seen you 
good and modest. I know that you support your 
mother and that you are beloved by all who are 
acquainted with you. If you have committed a folly, 
admit your blindness ; you will cause those who have 
had esteem and friendship for you to suffer less 
by frankly accusing yourself and showing sincere 
repentance.” 

Marius spoke in a gentle and convincing tone. 
Bldtry, whom the sharp words of the commissaire had 
left mute and confusedly irritated, bent beneath the 
austere indulgence of his former friend. He thought 
of his mother ; he thought of that esteem and those 
friendships which he was about to lose, and a keen 
emotion took him by the throat. He burst into sobs. 


144 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


He wept scalding tears in his hands which he held 
over his face, and, for several minutes, only his terrible 
groans of despair were heard. It was a complete con- 
fession. Eveiybody remained silent. 

“Yes!” cried Bl(itry, at last, in the midst of his 
tears, “I did steal and I am a wretch! I did not 
know what I was doing. I took at first a few hundred 
francs ; then I wanted a thousand, two thousand, five 
thousand, ten thousand francs at a time ! It seemed 
to me that some one was pushing me on from behind. 
My needs and my appetites increased constantly.” 

“But what have you done with all this money?” 
asked the commissaire. 

“I do not know. I gave it away, spent it in riotous 
living, and lost it at cards. You cannot imagine the 
whirl I was in. I was calm in my poverty; I aspired 
to nothing ; I loved to pray in the churches, to lead a 
holy life like an honest man. And yet I have tasted 
luxury and vice ; I have entertained reckless com- 
panions ; I have bought fine furniture. I was out of 
my senses ! ” 

“Can you give me the names of the parties you 
entertained with the money you stole ? ” 

“ As if I knew their names ! I made their acquaint- 
ance here, there and everywhere — in the streets and at 
the public balls. They came because my pockets were 
full of gold, and they left me when my pockets were 
empty. Then I lost much at baccharat at the clubs. 
What made me a thief was seeing certain young men 
belonging to fine families throw money out of the 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 145 


windows and wallow in wealth and idleness. I wished 
to have, like them, boon companions, noisy pleasures, 
nights of gaming and revelry. I needed thirty thou- 
sand francs a year and made but eighteen hundred. 
Then I stole.” 

The wretch, stifling^ choking with grief, let him- 
self fall upon a chair. Marius approached M. Daste, 
who himself was moved, and begged him to be indul- 
gent. Afterwards, he hastened to withdraw ; this scene 
made his heart bleed. He left Bldtry in a sort of stu- 
por, a kind of nervous prostration. A few months 
later, he learned that the cashier had been sentenced 
to five years’ imprisonment. 

When Marius found himself in the street, he felt 
greatly relieved. He realized that Heaven had given 
him a lesson in causing him to witness Bl^try’s arrest. 
Several hours before, at the harbor, he had had evil 
thoughts of fortune ; he had felt a sort of hatred for 
the rich. He had just seen whither such thoughts 
and such feelings might lead. 

And, suddenly, he remembered why he went to the 
soap manufactory. He had now but an hour left him 
to find the fifteen thousand francs with which to save 
his brother. 

9 


146 * THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XV. 

PHILIPPE REFUSES TO ESCAPE. 

M arius mentally acknowledged that he was 
powerless. He no longer knew where to apply. 
One does not borrow fifteen thousand francs in an 
hour, when one is merely a clerk. 

He passed slowly down the Rue d’Aix, his brain 
aching, finding nothing in his benumbed thoughts. 
Money troubles are terrible ; one would rather strug- 
gle against an assassin than against the eluding and 
overwhelming phantom of poverty. Nobody has, up 
to the present time, been able to invent a hundred-sou 
piece. 

When the young man reached the Cours Belzunce, 
hopeless and brought to a stand by necessity, he 
resolved to return empty-handed to Aix. The dili- 
gence was about to start ; only one place on the imp6- 
riale was left. Marius took that place joyfully; he 
preferred to remain in the open air, for anxiety was 
stifling him and he hoped that the broad country 
horizons would calm his fever. 

It was a sorrowful journey. In the morning he had 
passed the same trees, the same hills, and the hope 
which made him smile then threw a mild and delicious 
brightness over the fields and hillocks. Now, he again 
saw the same scenes and imparted to them all the sad- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 147 


ness of his soul ; the country seemed funereal to him. 
The heavy vehicle rolled onward ; the cultivated lands, 
the groves of pines and the little hamlets stretched 
out along the highway; and Marius found, in each 
new landscape, a more sinister mourning, a more 
poignant grief. Night came on; it appeared to him 
that the entire region was covered with ah immense 
sheet of black crape. 

When he arrived at Aix, he went towards the prison 
with a lingering step. He said to himself that, no 
matter how late he might be, he would still bring the 
bad news too soon. He entered the jail at nine 
o’clock in the evening. Revertegat and Fine were 
playing cards at a corner of the table to kill time. 

The flower-girl arose, with a joyous bound, and ran 
to the young man. 

‘^Well?” asked she, with a bright smile, throwing 
back her head coquettishly. 

Marius dare not reply. He sat down, despairingly. 

‘‘Why don’t you speak?” cried Fine. “Have you 
the money?” 

- “ No,” answered the young man, simply. 

He drew a long breath and told them of B^rard’s 
failure, Bl^try’s arrest and all the misfortunes which 
had happened to him at Marseilles. He closed by 
saying : 

“Now, I am only a poor devil. My brother wdll 
remain a prisoner.” 

The flower-girl stood in dolorous surprise. With 
hands clasped, in that attitude of pity which the 


148 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

women of Provence assume, she murmured, in a 
tone of lamentation : 

‘‘Oh ! how hard, how hard ! ” 

She looked at her uncle ; she seemed to urge him to 
speak. Revert^gat contemplated the two )^oung peo- 
ple with compassion. They saw that a struggle was 
taking place in him. Finally, coming to a decision, 
he said to Marius: 

“Listen, Monsieur: My vocation has not so hard- 
ened me that I am insensible to the grief of deserving 
people. I have already told you why I sold you your 
brother’s freedom. But I would not have you think 
that I am influenced only by the love of money. If 
unfortunate circumstances prevent yoii from putting 
me at present beyond reach of want, I will none the 
less open the door for Monsieur Philippe. You can 
help me later ; you can pay me the fifteen thousand 
francs sou by sou, when you are able.” 

Fine, on hearing these words, clapped her hands. 
She leaped up on her uncle’s neck and kissed him full 
in the mouth. Marius became grave. 

“I cannot accept your devotion,” answered he. “I 
already reproach myself for having made you false to 
your duty. I refuse to aggravate my responsibility 
by throwing you, in addition, into the street without 
a morsel of bread ! ” 

The flower-girl turned towards the young man 
almost with anger. 

“Hold j^our tongue!” cried she. “Monsieur Phi- 
lippe must be saved. I wish it. Besides, we can open 
the prison doors without you. Come, uncle. If 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


149 


Monsieur Philippe consents, his brother will have 
nothing to say.’' 

Marius followed the young girl and the jailer, who 
went towards the prisoner’s cell. They had taken a 
dark lantern and glided through the corridors so as 
not to arouse attention. 

They all three entered the cell and closed the door 
behind them. Philippe was asleep. Revert^gat, 
moved by his niece’s tears, had ameliorated as much 
as possible for the young man the severe regimen of 
the prison; he had carried to him breakfast and din- 
ner prepared by Fine herself; he had loaned him books 
and had even given him a supplementary coverlet. 
The cell had become habitable, and Philippe was not 
too weary of it ; he knew, besides, that preparations 
for his flight were being made. 

He awoke, and put out his hands effusively to his 
brother and the flower-girl. 

‘‘Have you come for me?” asked he, with a smile. 

“Yes,” replied Fine. “ Dress yourself quickly.” 

Marius was silent. His heart beat with great 
thumps. He feared lest an ardent desire for freedom 
might make his brother accept this flight, which he had 
deemed it his duty to refuse. 

“ So, all is understood and arranged,” resumed 
Philippe. “I can escape without fear and without 
remorse. Have you paid the money promised ? Why 
don’t you answer me, Marius?” 

Fine hurriedly interposed. 

“I told you to make haste!” cried she. “What 
are you uneasy about?” 


150 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES; 


She had gathered up the young man’s garments ; 
she threw them to him, adding that she would wait in 
the corridor. 

Marius stopped her with a gesture. 

“Pardon,” said he; “I cannot allow my brother to 
remain in ignorance of our misfortunes.” 

And, despite Fine’s impatience, he repeated the par- 
ticulars of his journey to Marseilles. But he offered 
no advice ; he wished to allow his brother full freedom 
of choice. 

“Then,” cried Philippe, overwhelmed, “you have 
not given the money to the jailer! We are without 
a sou ! ” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself about that,” said Revert^- 
gat, approaching. “You can pay me later.” 

The prisoner was mute. He thought no more of 
flight ; he thought of poverty and of the sorry figure 
he would cut thenceforward upon the promenades of 
Marseilles. No more elegant garments, no more idling 
about, no more love affairs I Besides, he had chival- 
rous feelings and poetical ideas which prevented him 
from accepting the jailer’s devotion. He returned to 
his miserable bed, pulled the coverlet up to his chin 
and said, in a calm voice : 

“Well, I will stay where I am I ” 

Marius’ face was radiant. Fine stood as if stupefied. 

Recovering herself, the flower-girl strove to prove 
the necessity of the flight; she spoke of the public 
exposure, of the infamy of the pillory. She grew ani- 
mated ; she was beautiful in her anger and Philippe 
gazed at her with admiration. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 151 


‘‘ My pretty child,” replied he, “you, perhaps, might 
make me yield if I had not become blind and obstinate 
in this cell. But, truly, I have already committed 
enough cowardly actions, without burdening my con- 
science further. Whatever Heaven ordains will take 
place! But all is not lost. Marius will deliver me; 
he will find the money, as you will see. You can come 
for me when you have paid my ransom. Then, we 
will fly together and I will embrace you I ” 

He spoke almost gayly. Marius took his hand. 

“Thank you, brother,” said he. “ Have confidence.” 

Fine and Revert^gat quitted the cell. Philippe and 
Marius remained alone for several minutes. They had 
a grave and animated conversation: they talked of 
Blanche and her child. 

When the three visitors to the cell had returned to 
the jailer’s lodge, the flower-girl lost all hope and asked 
Marius what he was going to do. 

“ I shall make another attempt to raise the money,” 
replied he. “ The trouble is that we are pressed for 
time and that I do not know any one to whom I can 
apply for a loan.” 

“ I can aid you a little,” said Revert^gat. “There is 
in this town, a short distance from here, a banker, M. 
Rostand, who might be induced, perhaps, to lend you 
a goodly sum. But I forewarn you that this Rostand 
has the reputation of being a usurer.” 

Marius had no choice of means. 

“I thank you,” said he. “I will see Rostand to- 
morrow morning.” 


152 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE USURERS. 

I ^HE Sieur Rostand was a shrewd man. He carried 
> on his infamous business with great ability. To 
put an honorable stamp upon his vocation, he had 
opened a banking-house ; he paid his license ; he was 
legally established. On occasion, he even knew how 
to show a little honesty ; he loaned money at the same 
rate as his brethren, the bankers of the town. But, in 
his establishment, there was, so to speak, a back shop 
in which he lovingly elaborated his rascalities. 

Six months after the opening of his banking-house, 
he became the manager of a body of usurers, of a scoun- 
drelly band which entrusted him with funds. The 
combination was of a patriarchal simplicity. People 
who had the bump of usury and were afraid to ope- 
rate on their own account, at their own risk and peril, 
brought him their money and begged him to make the 
most out of it he could. He thus controlled a rapid 
circulation of funds to a considerable amount, and could 
largely take advantage of the needs of borrowers. Those 
w'ho furnished the money remained in the background. 
He solemnly engaged to loan at fabulous rates, at fifty, 
sixty and even eighty per cent. Each month, the cap- 
italists met at his house ; he presented his accounts and 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 153 

divided the profits. And he so arranged matters as to 
keep the largest share for himself, to rob the robbers. 

He always sought those doing a small trade. When 
a merchant, the day before an obligation fell due, de- 
sired to borrow, he imposed exorbitant conditions upon 
him. The merchant invariably accepted them. Ros- 
tand had thus caused more than fifty failures in ten 
years. Everything was grist to his mill ; he as readily 
lent a hundred sous to a dealer in vegetables as a thou- 
sand francs to a cattle merchant; he systematically 
sheared the town; he did not lose an opportunity bf 
giving ten francs to secure a return of twenty the next 
day. He watched the eldest sons of high families, the 
3’oung reprobates who throw money out of the win- 
dows ; he filled their hands with gold pieces that they 
might throw more, and stood below to pick up what 
fell. He also made trips into the country to tempt the 
peasants, and, when the harvests failed, tore from 
them, strip by strip, their farms and their lands. 

This house was a veritable trap in which fortunes 
were swallowed up. People, entire families, whom he 
had ruined were cited. Everybody knew the secret 
springs of his trade. They pointed out his capitalists : 
rich men, former ministerial officials, merchants and 
even workmen. But they had no proofs. Rostand’s 
license protected him, and he was too cunning to allow 
himself to be caught at crime. 

Once only in his infamous career had he been in 
danger. The affair made a great noise. A lady be- 
longing to a distinguished family wished to borrow of 


154 THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 

him quite a large sum ; she was very pious and had dis- 
sipated her fortune by giving right and left, by bestow- 
ing enormous alms. Rostand, who knew that all her 
property was gone, told her she must sign her brother’s 
name to some notes ; having those forgeries in his hands, 
he was certain of being paid by the brother, who would 
be interested in avoiding a scandal. The poor lady 
signed. Charity had ruined her, and the feeble good- 
ness of her character made her suQCumb. The usurer 
had made no mistake in his calculation: the first notes 
were paid ; but, as new obligations were constantly 
being presented, the brother lost patience and deter- 
mined to look into the affair. He went to Rostand and 
threatened to prosecute him ; he said he would rather 
see his sister disgraced than allow himself to be robbed 
with impunity by a thief like him. The usurer was 
almost frightened out of his wits ; he surrendered the 
notes remaining in his possession. However, he did 
not lose a sou ; he had loaned the money to the lady 
at a hundred per cent. 

From that day, Rostand was extremely prudent. 
He managed the funds of the scoundrelly band with 
a craftiness that won him the admiration and confi- 
dence of the capitalists. While the latter promenaded 
in the sunlight, like good people who rob nobody, he 
remained buried in a large, gloomy office ; it was there 
that the gold pieces of the society shot up and bore 
fruit. Rostand had grown to passionately love his 
trade, his cheating and his robberies. Certain mem- 
bers of the band used their gains to satisfy their pas- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 155 


sions, their appetites for luxury and dissipation. His 
sole delight was in being a crafty knave ; he took as 
much interest in each of his operations as in a poign- 
ant drama ; he applauded when his sinister comedies 
succeeded, and then experienced self-satisfaction and 
the enjoyment of a triumphant author ; afterwards, he 
placed the stolen money on a table and sank into a 
miserly ecstasy. 

Such was the man Revert^gat had innocently pointed 
out to Marius as a person likely to loan him the funds 
he needed. 

The following morning, the young man knocked at 
Rostand’s door about eight o’clock. The house was 
heavy and square. All the blinds were closed, which 
gave the front a glacial bareness, an air of mystery 
and suspicion. An old and toothless woman servant, 
clad in a rag of dirty calico, partially opened the door. 

“ Is Monsieur Rostand in ? ” asked Marius. 

^‘Yes; but he is engaged,” answered the servant, 
without further opening the door. 

The impatient young man pushed her aside and 
entered the vestibule. 

“Very well,” said he; “I will wait.” 

The surprised and hesitating servant realized that 
she could not get rid of such a determined intruder. 
She decided to take him into the second story, where 
she left him in a sort of antechamber. The room was 
small and dark ; the walls were covered with greenish 
paper, which the dampness had discolored in large 
patches. The only piece of furniture was a straw- 
bottomed chair; Marius seated himself on it. 


156 THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 

In front of him, an open door permitted him to see 
the interior of an office, in which a clerk was writing 
with a goose-quill pen, which scratched terribly on the 
paper. To the left of him was another door, which 
looked as if it led to the banker’s private sanctum. 

Marius waited a long while. Pungent odors of old 
paper lingered around him. The apartment was mis- 
erably filthy, and the bareness of the walls gave it a 
lugubrious aspect. Dust was heaped in the corners, 
and spiders were spinning their webs on the ceiling. 
The young man w’as almost stifled ; the scratching of 
the goose-quill pen, which grew more and more noisy, 
made him nervous. 

Suddenly he heard people talking in the adjoining 
room, and, as the words reached him clearly and dis- 
tinctly, he was about to discreetly draw back his chair 
when certain phrases nailed him to his place. There 
are conversations to which one can listen ; delicacy 
was not made to protect the privacy of certain men. 

A sharp voice, which seemed to be that of the 
master of the house, said, with a friendly bluntness : 

Messieurs, we are all present ; let us talk of serious 
things. The meeting is called to order. I will render 
a faithful account of my operations for the month, and 
we will then proceed to divide the profits.” 

There was a slight tumult, a sound of individual 
conversations being brought to a close. Marius, who 
could not yet understand matters, nevertheless felt a 
lively curiosity take possession of him; he divined 
that a strange scene was in progress behind the door. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 157 

In truth, the usurer Rostand had assembled his 
worthy associates of the scoundrelly band. The 
young man had presented himself at the very hour 
of the meeting, at the moment the manager was about 
to exhibit his books, explain his operations and divide 
what had been cleared. 

The sharp voice resumed : 

‘‘ Before going into details, I must tell you that the 
results of this month have not been as satisfactory as 
those of last month. We cleared then, on an average, 
sixty per cent., but now we have made only fifty-five.” 

Various exclamations broke forth. One might say 
that a displeased crowd was protesting in murmurs. 
There appeared to be at least fifteen persons in the 
apartment. 

Messieurs,” continued Rostand, with a certain 
jeering bitterness, “I have done all I could; you 
ought to thank me. The business grows more diffi- 
cult daily. But here are my accounts; I will rapidly 
make you acquainted with some of the afl;aifs I have 
transacted.” 

A profound silence reigned for several seconds. 
Then arose a rustling of papers, the slight flapping 
of the leaves of a ledger. Marius, beginning to 
comprehend, listened with more attention than ever. 

Then Rostand enumerated his operations, giving 
some explanations in regard to each. He had the 
noisy and nasal tone of a court tipstaflF. 

“I loaned,” said he, “ten thousand francs to the 
young Comte de Salvy, a youth of twenty, who will be 


158 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MAKSKILLES. 


of age in nine months. He had lost at cards, and his 
lady-love, it seems, had exacted from him a large sum. 
I made him sign notes at ninety days for eighteen 
thousand francs. These notes are dated, as they 
should be, on the day the debtor will have attained 
his majority. The Salvys own large estates. It is an 
excellent affair.” 

A fawning murmur greeted the usurer’s words. 

“ The next day,” continued he, “ I received a visit 
from the Comte’s lady-love ; she was exasperated, the 
young man having given her only two or three thou- 
sand francs. She swore that she would bring de Salvy 
to me, bound hand and foot, to obtain another loan. 
This time, I will demand the cession of a piece of 
property. We have still nine months to shear the 
young idiot, whom his mother leaves without money.” 

Rostand turned the leaves of the ledger. He 
resumed, after a brief silence : 

‘‘Jourdier — a cloth merchant, who, each month, 
needs a few hundred francs to meet his obligations. 
To-day, his stock belongs almost entirely to us. I 
have again loaned him five hundred francs at sixty per 
cent. Next month, if he asks me for a sou, I will 
make him fail and we will seize his merchandise. 

Marianne — a huckster. Every morning, she gets 
ten francs and returns me fifteen in the evening. I 
believe she drinks. A small affair, but a sure profit — 
a fixed income of five francs per day. 

“Laurent — a peasant of the Roquefavour district. 
He has ceded to me, strip by strip, a piece of land he 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 159 

owned near the Arc. This property is worth five 
thousand francs ; it cost us two thousand. I have 
expelled our man from the premises. His wife and 
children came to me and wept over their poverty. 
You will give me credit for all such vexations, will 
you not? 

‘‘ Andre — a miller. He owed us eight hundred 
francs. I threatened him with a seizure. Then, he 
hastened to beg me not to ruin him by making public 
his insolvency. I consented to make the seizure my- 
self, without the aid of a bailiff, and took more than 
twelve hundred francs’ worth of furniture and linen : 
that is I gained over four hundred francs by being 
humane.” 

There was a little rustle of satisfaction in the assem- 
bly. Marius heard the half-suppressed laughter of 
those men, who were gloating over Rostand’s shrewd- 
ness. The banker continued : 

“Now, we come to ordinary matters : three thousand 
francs loaned at forty per cent, to Simon, the merchant ; 
fifteen hundred francs at fifty per cent, to the cattle 
merchant, Charan^on ; two thousand francs at eighty 
per cent, to the Marquis de Cantarel; a hundred 
francs at thirty-five per cent, to the son of the notary^ 
Tingrey.” 

And Rostand went on thus for a quarter of an hour, 
reading out names and figures, enumerating loans 
which ranged from ten to ten thousand francs, and 
rates which varied from twenty to a hundred per cent. 
When he had finished, a hoarse, oily voice said : 


160 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

“You must have been wrong in your statement a 
little while ago, my dear friend ! You have toiled mar- 
vellously, this month. All these transactions are ex- 
cellent. It is impossible for the profits not to average 
more than fifty-five per cent. You were surely de- 
ceived when you announced that figure.” 

“ I am never deceived,” answered the usurer, coldly. 

Marius, who had almost glued his ear to the door, 
thought he noticed indecision in the scoundrel’s voice. 

“I have not yet told you all,” continued Rostand, 
with embarrassment. “A week ago, we lost twelve 
thousand francs ! ” 

At these words, there were terrible exclamations. 
Marius hoped, for a moment, that the wretches would 
, strangle each other. 

“ The devil ! Listen to me ! ” cried the banker, amid 
the tumult. “ I make enough money for you to induce 
you to pardon me, when, by chance, I cause you to 
lose in a transaction. Besides, it was not my fault. I 
was robbed ! ” 

He uttered these words with all the indignation of 
an honest man. When quiet was somewhat restored, 
he proceeded : 

“This is the whole story: Monier, a grain mer- 
chant, a solvent man, of whom I had the most favora- 
ble information, asked me for twelve thousand francs. 
I replied that I could not lend them to him, but that I 
knew an old miser, who would, perhaps, advance them 
at an exorbitant rate. He returned the next day, and 
informed me that he was ready to accept all the condi- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 161 


tions. I called his attention to the fact that the miser 
demanded five thousand francs interest for six months. 
He consented. You see that it was an affair of gold. 
While I went to get the funds, he seated himself at 
my desk and signed seventeen notes for a thousand 
francs each. I glanced over the papers and placed 
them on the corner of this table. Then, I chatted a 
few minutes with Monier, who had arisen ; after hav- 
ing pocketed the money, he made his preparations to 
depart. When he had gone, I thought I would lock 
up his notes. I took the papers in my hand. Just 
think of it ! — the knave had exchanged the notes for a 
similar package of derisory bills, smeared with ink, to 
the order of I know not whom, without signature. 
I was robbed. I nearly had a rush of blood to the 
head. I ran after the thief, who was tranquilly walk- 
ing in the sun on the Cours. At the first word I 
addressed to him, he called me a usurer and threatened 
to drag me before the commissaire de police. This 
Monier has the reputation of being an upright and 
honest man, and, ma foi! I preferred to hold my 
tongue ! ” 

This recital was frequently interrupted by the angry 
comments of the assembly. 

“ Admit, Rostand, that you showed a lack of 
energy,” said the hoarse voice. “Well, we have lost 
our money, and will only get fifty-five per cent. 
Another time, you must watch our interests closer. 
Now, let us divide.” 

Marius, despite his anguish and his indignation, 

10 


162 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


could not repress a smile. The robbery committed 
by this Monier struck him as in the highest degree 
amusing, and, at the bottom of his heart, he applauded 
the knave who had duped another knave. 

He knew now what was Rostand’s business. He 
had not lost a word of what had been said in the 
adjoining room, and he had easily imagined the scene 
that had been going on there. Leaning slightly for- 
ward on his chair, his ear strained, he had seen with 
his mind’s eye the usurers wrangling, with greedy 
looks and faces contracted by the evil passions which 
agitated them. Deep indignation had seized upon him 
at the recital of Rostand’s rascalities ; he had felt a 
desire to enter and strike the man. 

He experienced a sort of bitter gayety when he 
remembered his errand in this den of cut-throats. 
What innocence, good God ! It was here that he had 
thought to find the fifteen thousand francs necessary 
to save Philippe, and he had waited for an hour that 
the banker might turn him into the street like a beg- 
gar. Or, perhaps, Rostand would ask of him fifty per 
cent, and impudently rob him. At this thought, at the 
thought that on the other side of the door was a 
reunion of wretches who made money on the poverty 
and shame of a town, Marius suddenly arose and put 
his hand on the door-knob. 

In the apartment was heard the sharp chink of gold 
pieces. The usurers were dividing their booty. Each 
was receiving the profit of a month’s cheatery. This 
money they were counting, the music of which volup- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


163 


tiiously tickled their flesh, gave forth at times the 
sound of sobs ; one might say that the usurers’ victims 
were lamenting. 

Amid the echoing silence, the banker’s voice uttered 
only amounts with a metallic sharpness. He dealt out 
a share to each of his partners ; he named a sum and 
let fall a pile of gold pieces, which struck the desk 
with a ringing sound. 

Then Marius turned the door-knob. With pale face 
and firm, honest looks, he stood for several seconds 
silently upon the threshold. 

The young man had before him a strange spectacle. 
Rostand was standing in front of his desk ; behind him 
was an open safe from which he took handfuls of gold. 
Around the desk, seated in a circle, were the members 
of the scoundrelly band, some awaiting their share, 
others counting the money they had just received. 
Every minute, the banker consulted his accounts, 
stooping over a ledger, letting the money go with 
the utmost prudence. His worthy partners were 
staring greedily at his hands. 

At the sound made by the door in opening, every 
head turned with a sudden movement of terror and 
surprise. And, when the usurers perceived Marius, 
grave and indignant, each instinctively placed his 
hand over his heap of gold. There was a moment of 
trouble and stupor. 

The young man instantly recognized the wretches. 
He had met them in the streets, with heads held high, 
with countenances dignified and honest, and he had 


164 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

even bowed to some of them, who might have saved 
his brother. They all were rich, honored and influen- 
tial ; among them were former officials, property-hold- 
ers, men who assiduously frequented the churches 
and the salons of the town. Marius, on seeing them 
thus, debased and contemptible, blanching beneath his 
glances, made a gesture of disgust and disdain. 

Rostand rushed towards the intruder. His eyes 
snapped excitedly; his thick, wan lips trembled; all 
his reddish and wrinkled miser’s mask expressed a 
sort of terrified astonishment. 

‘‘What do you want?” asked he of Marius, hesi- 
tatingly. “ It is not customary to enter houses in this 
way.” 

“I wanted fifteen thousand francs,” answered the 
young man, in a cold and jeering tone. 

“ I have no money,” the usurer hastened to reply, 
moving towards his safe. 

“Oh! rest easy; I have abandoned the idea of 
being robbed. For an hour past, I have been behind 
that door and have heard all the details of your 
meeting ! ” 

This declaration fell like the blow of a club, and 
made all the members of the scoundrelly band turn 
away their heads. These men yet possessed the shame 
belonging to their honorable station ; some of them 
hid their faces in their hands. Rostand, who had no 
reputation to lose, recovered himself little by little. 
He approached Marius and cried, in a loud voice : 

“Who are you? By what right do you steal into 


THE MYSTEPwIES OF MAKSEILLES. 165 


my house to listen at the doors ? Why do you make 
your way into my private office, if you have nothing 
to ask of me ? ” 

“Who am I?” said Marius, in a low, calm tone. 
“ I am an honest man and you are a knave ! By what 
right have I listened at that door? By the right that 
people of probity have to unmask and crush scoun- 
drels ! Why have I made my way to you ? To tell 
you that you are a wretch and to amply satisfy my 
indignation ! ” 

Rostand trembled with rage. He did not seek to 
explain to himself the presence of this avenger, who 
hurled truths in his face. He was about to cry aloud 
and fling himself upon Marius, when the latter stopped 
him with an energetic gesture. 

“ Be quiet ! ” thundered he. “ I am on the point of 
going; I am suffocating here. But I did not wish 
to withdraw without relieving myself a little. Ah ! 
Messieurs, you have a furious appetite. You share 
among you the tears and despair of families with a 
terrible gluttony; you gorge yourselves with robberies 
and rascalities ! I am glad to be able to disturb your 
digestion a trifle, and make you shiver with uneasiness 
to the depths of your cowardly hearts ! ” 

Rostand strove to interrupt him. He continued, in 
a'more resonant voice: 

“ Highway robbers have, at least, the merit of cour- 
age. They fight, they risk their lives ! But you, 
Messieurs, steal disgracefully in the darkness, you 
slink ignobly in the by-ways of a contemptible voca- 


166 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

tion ! And, worst of all, you can live without being 
knaves ! You all are rich ! You commit villainy, 
God save the mark ! for amusement and the gratifica- 
tion of your tastes ! ” 

Some of the usurers arose, menacingly. 

‘‘ You have never seen tfie anger of an honest man, 
have you?” added Marius, jeeringly. “The truth 
irritates and frightens you. You are accustomed to 
be treated with the consideration due to upright peo- 
ple, and, as you have so arranged matters as to hide 
your infamies and preserve everybody’s esteem, you 
have at last grown to believe in the respect accorded 
to your hypocrisy! Well, I desired that once in your 
lives you might be insulted as you deserve, and that is 
why I came in here I ” 

The young man saw that he would be murdered, if 
he remained. He retired step by step towards the 
door, holding the usurers in check with his glance. 
At the door, he paused again. 

“ I am well aware. Messieurs,” said he, “ that I can- 
not drag you before human justice. Your wealth, 
your influence and your shrewdness render you invio- 
lable. If I were stupid enough to struggle against 
you, I, certainly, would be the party punished. But, 
at least, I will not have to reproach myself with hav- 
ing been in the presence of men such as you, without 
casting my contempt in their faces. Would that my 
words were a red-hot iron to brand your foreheads with 
infamy! The crowd in that case would follow you 
and hoot at you, and then, perhaps, you would profit 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 167 


by the lesson. Divide your gold ; if you have the least 
bit of probity left, it will burn your hands ! ” 

Marius closed the door and departed. When he 
was in the street, he smiled sadly. He saw life 
stretch out before him, with all its shame and misery, 
and said to himself that he was filling in existence the 
noble and ridiculous r61e of a Don Quixote of justice 
and honor. 

He thought that, perhaps, it would have been better 
had he not entered Rostand’s office. He had grown 
indignant to no purpose whatever; he knew that he 
would correct no one. But, when indignation urged 
him on, he altogether lost control of himself ; he had 
attacked the usurers through instinct, as any man 
would crush base and dangerous reptiles. ♦ 


168 THE MTSTEKIES OF MAKSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TWO INFAMOUS SCOUNDBELS. 

W HEN Marius related his adventure to the jailer 
and the flower-girl, the latter exclaimed : 

“We have not advanced a step ! Why did you get 
angry? That man, perhaps, would have loaned you 
the money.” 

Young girls have infatuations which give them a 
certain pliancy of conscience; thus Fine, altogether 
upright as she was, would, doubtless, have turned a 
deaf ear to Rostand’s rascalities, and, on occasion, 
would even have made use of the secrets chance had 
confided to her. 

Revert^gat was somewhat disturbed at having 
advised Marius to pay a visit to the banker. 

“ I forewarned you. Monsieur,” said he. “ I was 
not ignorant of the rumors in circulation respecting 
that man, but I attributed a large portion of them to 
slander. If I had known the whole truth, I never 
would have sent you to him.” 

Marius and Fine passed the entire afternoon in 
framing extravagant plans, in vainly racking their 
brains for the means of improvising the fifteen thou- 
sand francs necessary to secure Philippe’s safety. 

“ What ! ” cried the young girl, “ can we not find in 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 169 


this town a stout heart to extricate us from our embar- 
rassment ! Are there no rich people Viere who lend 
their money at a reasonable rate ? Come now, uncle, 
help us a little. Name me some available person, that 
I may cast myself at his feet ! ” 

Revert^gat shook his head. 

“ Yes,” answered he, “ there are stout hearts here, 
rich people who, perhaps, might aid you. But you 
have no claim upon their kindness, you cannot demand 
money of them on the instant. You must address 
yourself to the lenders, the note-shavers, and, as you 
have no solid security to offer, you are compelled to 
have recourse to the usurers. Oh ! I know old misers, 
old knaves, who would be enchanted to hold you in 
their claws, or who would throw you into the street as 
a dangerous beggar.” 

Fine listened to her uncle. All these money ques- 
tions were confused in her young head. She had a 
soul so open and so frank that it seemed to her alto- 
gether natural and exceedingly easy to ask for and 
obtain a large sum in a couple of hours. There were 
millionaires who could so readily dispose of a few 
thousand francs without the least trouble. 

She persisted. 

“Think well,” said she to the jailer. “Do you 
really know of no man whatever with whom we can 
make an attempt?” 

Revertdgat gazed with emotion at her anxious coun- 
tenance. He hesitated to spread the brutal truths of 
life before this child, full of the hopes of youth. 


170 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


“Indeed,” responded he, “I know of no man. I 
have spoken to you of old misers, of old knaves, who 
have acquired vast fortunes by shameful means. Like 
Rostand, they loan a hundred francs to get back a 
hundred and fifty in three months.” 

He stopped abruptly and then resumed, in a lower 
tone : 

“Would you like me to tell you the history of one 
of these men ? His name is Roumieu ; he was for- 
merly a public official. His specialty was making a 
terrible hunt after inheritances. Introducing himself 
into families, called upon by liis duties to play the role 
of a confidant and friend, he studied the field and pre- 
pared his ambushes. When he encountered a testator 
of weak and wavering spirit, he became his creature, 
cozened him, won his favor, little by little, by reve- 
rences, cajolery and a shrewd comedy of small cares 
and filial tenderness. Ah ! he was a cunning man ! 
It was a sight to see him put his prey to> sleep, make 
himself supple and winning, worm his way into an old 
man’s friendship. Gradually he drove off the real 
heirs, the nephews and the cousins ; then he wrote a 
new will which robbed them of their relative’s fortune 
and named him as the sole legatee. He did nothing 
hastily; he devoted ten years to the attainment of his 
end, to the proper maturing of his rascalities ; he pro- 
ceeded with feline prudence, crawling in the back- 
ground unweariedly, and leaping upon his prey only 
when it lay panting before him, rendered inert by his 
glances and his caresses ! He hunted inheritances as 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


171 


a tiger hunts a hare, with a silent brutality, a velvet- 
footed ferocity.” 

Fine thought she was hearing a tale from “ The 
Arabian Nights;” she listened to her uncle, her eyes 
wide open with astonishment. Marius had begun to 
be familiar with roguery. 

“And you say that this man has acquired a vast 
fortune ? ” said he to the jailer. 

“Yes,” continued the latter. “Strange examples 
are cited which prove the extraordinary cunning of 
Roumieu. For instance, ten or fifteen years ago, he 
managed to get into the good graces, of an old lady 
who had a fortune of nearly five hundred thousand 
francs. He actually took possession of her like an 
evil spirit. The old lady became his slave to such an 
extent that she refused herself a morsel of bread, in 
order not to touch the money she wished to leave to 
this demon who ruled her like a master. She was 
literally possessed; all the holy water in a church 
would not have sufficed to exorcise the fiend. A visit 
from Roumieu plunged her into ecstasies without end; 
when he bowed to her in the street, she was as if 
stricken by a fit — she grew* red with joy. No one 
could ever conceive by what flattery, by what adroit 
and insinuating procedure, the notary had been able to 
penetrate so far into that heart which excessive piety 
had closed. When the old lady died, she despoiled 
her direct heirs and left her five hundred thou- 
sand francs to Roumieu. Everybody expected this 
denouement.” 


172 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


There was silence for an instant. Revert^gat 
resumed : 

‘‘I can cite yet another example. The anecdote 
contains a cruel comedy and proves Roumieu’s rare 
suppleness. A man named Richard, who had amassed 
in trade several hundred thousand francs, had retired 
into the bosom of an honest family, the members of 
which took care of him and made his old age pleasant. 
In exchange for this kindly friendship, the former mer- 
chant had promised his hosts to leave them his fortune. 
They lived in that hope ; they had numerous children 
and counted upon establishing them in an honorable 
fashion. But Roumieu happened to pass that way; 
he soon became the intimate friend of Richard; he 
took him occasionally to the country; he accomplished 
in perfect secrecy his work of taking possession. The 
family which gave the retired trader a home suspected 
nothing; the hosts continued to care for their guest, 
awaiting the inheritance: for fifteen years they had 
lived thus in delightful quietude, making plans for the 
future, certain of being happy and rich. Richard died, 
and, the next day, Roumieu was discovered to be his 
heir, to the great astonishment and despair of the 
honest family, robbed of its affection and its rights. 
Such is the hunter of inheritances. When he walks, 
his footsteps make no sound: his leaps are too rapid to 
be noticed ; he has already sucked* all the blood from 
his prey before he is seen crouched upon it ! ’’ 

Fine was shocked. 

“No, no,” said she, “I will never ask such a man 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


173 


for money. Do you not know of some other lender, 
uncle?” 

“Ah! my poor child,” replied the jailer, “all 
usurers are alike; all of them have some indelible 
stain on their lives. I know an old miser, who has 
a fortune of more than a million francs and lives alone 
in a dirty and abandoned house. Guillaume buries 
himself in the depths of his foul-smelling den. The 
dampness cracks the walls of this vault; the floor is 
not even paved, and one walks upon a sort of vile 
muck made of mud and rubbish; spider webs hang 
from the ceiling, dust covers every object and a dim, 
lugubrious light enters through the window panes 
black with grease. The miser seems to sleep in the 
filth, as the spiders of the beams sleep motionlessly 
amid their webs. When a victim becomes entangled 
in the nets he spreads, he draws it to him and sucks 
the blood from its veins. This man eats nothing but 
vegetables boiled in water, and never satisfies his hun- 
ger. He dresses himself in rags ; he leads the life of 
a beggar and a leper. And all this to keep the money 
he has already amassed, to constantly augment his 
treasure. He lends only at a hundred per cent.” 

Fine turned pale at the hideous spectacle of which 
her uncle gave her a glimpse. 

“ But,” continued the jailer, “ Guillaume has friends 
who extol his pietyt He believes neither in God nor 
the devil; he would sell Christ a second time if he 
could; but he has been crafty enough to feign great, 
religious zeal, and this comedy has brought him the 


174 


THE MYSTEEIES OF MARSEILLES. 


esteem of certain narrow-minded and blind people. 
One meets him crawling in the churches, kneeling 
behind all the pillars, using buckets of holy water. 
Question the town, ask what good action this godly 
personage has ever performed! ‘He worships God,’ 
will be the reply; but he robs his fellow-creatures! 
No one can cite a person he has assisted. He lends at 
usurious rates, but does not give a sou to the unfor- 
tunate. A poor devil might die of hunger at his door, 
before he would bring him a morsel of bread and a 
glass of water. If he enjoys any consideration what- 
ever, it is because he has stolen that consideration like 
everything else belonging to him ! ” 

Revert^gat paused, looking at his niece, uncertain as 
to whether he ought to continue. 

“And what if you should be foolish enough to go to 
such a man!” said he, at length. “I cannot tell 
everything; I cannot speak of Guillaume’s worst 
faults. This old man has evil instincts; at times, 
he forgets his avarice.* People whisper of shameful 
orgies, of revolting dissipation — ” 

“ Enough ! ” cried Marius, sternly. 

Fine, blushing and dismayed, hung her head, having 
no longer either courage or hope. 

“ I see that money is too dear,” resumed the young 
man, “and that one must sell himself to buy it! Ah! 
if I only had the time to earn with my own hands the 
sum we need ! ” 

They all three remained silent, totally unable to find 
any means of saving Philippe. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 175 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A RAY OP HOPE 



'HE following morning, Marius, urged by necessity, 


X decided to apply to M. de Girousse. Since he 
had been endeavoring to raise the money he needed, 
he had often thought of making application to the old 
comte. But he had always recoiled from this idea; he 
feared the gentleman’s singular bluntness; he dare not 
admit to him his poverty; he was ashamed to tell him 
what was to be done with the fifteen thousand francs 
he solicited. 

Nothing could be more painful to him than to be 
obliged to put another party in possession of the 
secret of his brother’s contemplated escape, and M. de 
Girousse frightened liim more than any one else. 

When the young man presented himself, the hotel 
was empty; the comte had just departed for Lambesc. 
Marius was almost happy at finding no one, so much 
did the step he was taking weigh upon him. He 
stood in the Cours, irresolute, not having the courage 
to go to Lambesc, disheartened at being brought to 
a stand. 

As he walked away, overwhelmed, with wandering 
eyes, he met Fine. It was seven o’clock. The flower- 


176 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


girl, wearing her best dress, holding in her hand a 
small travelling bag, seemed to him resolute and 
radiant. 

Where are you going ? ” asked he, in surprise. 

“I am going to Marseilles,” answered she. 

He stared at her with an air of curiosity, questioning 
her with a look. 

“ I can tell you nothing,” continued she. I have 
a project, but am afraid of failing. I shall return this 
evening. Don’t give up all hope yet.” 

Marius accompanied Fine to the diligence. When 
the lumbering vehicle started, he followed it for a long 
while with his eyes; that vehicle bore his last hope 
and would bring back to him anguish or joy. 

Until evening, he hung around the arriving dili- 
gences. Only one more was to come, and Fine had 
not yet appeared. The young man, gnawed by impa- 
tience, walking back and forth with a nervous step, 
trembled lest the flower-girl should not return until 
the following day. 

In the ignorance in which he was, not knowing 
what this final attempt might be, he felt that he 
lacked the courage to pass an entire night of anxiety 
and indecision. He paced the Cours, quivering, a prey 
to a sort of nightmare. 

Finally, he saw the diligence in the distance, in the 
middle of the Place de la Rotonde. When he heard 
the wheels rattle over the paving stones, violent palpi- 
tations seized upon him. He placed his back against 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 177 

a tree, watching the travellers who got out, one by 
one, with exasperating deliberation. 

Suddenly, he stood as if nailed to the spot. Nearly 
opposite to him, in an open door-way of the diligence, 
he had just seen appear the tall figure and pale, sad 
face of the Abb^ Chastanier. When the abbe was 
upon the sidewalk, he put out his hand and helped a 
young girl to descend. This young girl was Mademoi- 
selle Blanche de Cazalis. 

Behind her. Fine leaped to the pavement with a 
light bound, without making use of the coach steps. 
She was radiant. 

The two travellers, guided by the flower-girl, went 
towards the Hotel des Princes. Marius, who had 
remained in the darkness of the growing night, fol- 
lowed them mechanically, utterly unable to compre- 
hend matters, as if stupefied. 

Fine was ten minutes at most in the hotel. When 
she came out, she perceived the young man and ran to 
him, overcome with wild joy. 

“I have succeeded in bringing them,” cried she, 
clapping her hands; “now, I hope they will obtain 
what I desire. To-morrow, we shall know all 
about it.” 

Then, she took Marius’ arm, and told him what she 
had done during her absence. 

The day before, she had been struck by the young 
man’s remark to the effect that he regretted not having 
sufficient time to earn with his own hands the sum he 
needed. 


11 


178 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Besides, her uncle’s sadness had proved to her 
that it was almost impossible to find a lender, a 
reasonable usurer. The question then reduced itself 
to gaining time, to striving to postpone as far as possi- 
ble the period when Philippe would be fastened to the 
pillory. 

What terrified Fine and Marins was this disgraceful 
exposure, which delivered up culprits to the jeers and 
insults of the crowd. 

The young girl’s plan was immediately determined 
upon, a bold plan which, perhaps, would succeed by 
reason of its very audacity. 

Her project was to go straight to the mansion 
of M. de Cazalis, to make her way to his niece 
and to spread out before her the picture of Philippe’s 
exposure, with everything such a spectacle would 
have of a nature insulting to the young lady. 

She would prevail upon her to aid her; they would 
go together to beg the deputy to intervene; if M. 
de Cazalis did not consent to ask for Philippe’s 
pardon, he would, perhaps, try to obtain a reprieve. 
Besides, Fine did not reason concerning her method of 
procedure ; it seemed impossible to her that Blanche’s 
uncle could resist her tears. She had faith in her 
devotedness. 

The poor child dreamed wide awake when she hoped 
that M. de Cazalis would bend at the last hour. That 
proud and obstinate man desired Philippe’s disgrace, 
and nothing in the world could have induced him to 
put an obstacle in the way of the accomplishment of 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 179 

his vengeance. If Fine had been compelled to strug- 
gle against him she would have been crushed ; she 
would have utterly wasted her most enchanting 
smiles and her most touching tears. 

Happily for her, circumstances aided her. When 
she presented herself at the deputy’s hotel on the 
Cours Bonaparte, she was informed that M. de Cazalis 
had been called to Paris by certain exigences of his 
political position. She asked to see Mademoiselle 
Blanche ; the servant vaguely replied that Mademoi- 
selle was absent, that she was travelling. 

The flower-girl, greatly embarrassed, Avas obliged to 
retire and reflect in the street. All her plans were 
thrown into disorder; this absence of the uncle and 
the niece took from her the support upon which she 
had counted, and there was not a single friend to 
whom she could turn. She, however, did not wish to 
lose her last hope and return to Aix as desperate as 
on the preceding day, after having made a fruitless 
journey. 

Suddenly, she thought of the Abb4 Chastanier. 
Marius had often spoken to her of the old priest; 
she knew his kindness, his devotedness. Perhaps he 
could give her valuable information. 

She found him at the house of his sister, the aged 
and infirm workwoman. She opened her heart to 
him ; she explained to him in a few words the motive 
of her journey to Marseilles. The priest listened to 
her with marked emotion. 

‘‘Heaven has sent you here,” answered he. “I 


180 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


think I can, under such circumstances, violate the 
secret which has been entrusted to me. Mademoiselle 
Blanche is not travelling. Her uncle, wishing to keep 
her out of sight and not being able to take her to Paris, 
hired for her a small house in the village of Saint- 
Henri. She is living there with a governess. M. de 
Cazalis, with whom I am again in favor, begged me to 
make frequent visits to her and gave me extensive 
authority over her. Would you like me to conduct 
you to the poor child, whom you will find much 
changed and greatly dejected?” 

Fine accepted with joy. Blanche turned pale when 
she saw the flower-girl and began to weep bitterly. A 
slight bluish circle surrounded her eyes; her lips were 
discolored and her cheeks as white as wax. One could 
see that a terrible cry, the cry of the heart and the 
conscience, had broken forth in her and shaken her 
determination. 

When Fine, in a gentle tone and with compassionate 
caresses, had made her comprehend that she could, 
perhaps, save Philippe from a supreme humiliation, 
she stood firmly up and said, in a broken voice : 

“ I am ready ; dispose of me.” 

“Well,” resumed Fine, eagerly, “aid me in our 
work of deliverance. I am certain that you will 
obtain a reprieve, at least, if you try.” 

“But,” observed the Abb^ Chastanier, “Mademoi- 
selle Blanche cannot go alone to Aix. I must accom- 
pany her. I know that M. de Cazalis, should he hear 
of this journey, will reproach me in the gravest man- 


THE MYSTERIES OF* MARSEILLES. 


181 


ner for it. I, however, accept the responsibility of the 
act, for I firmly believe I am doing my duty as a man ! ” 

When the flower-girl had obtained the consent of 
both, she scarcely allowed the old man and the young 
girl time to make a few preparations. She returned 
with them to Marseilles, pushed them into the dili- 
gence and bore them triumphantly to Aix. The next 
day, Blanche was to go to the President of the court 
who had pronounced Philippe’s sentence. 

Marius, when Fine had finished her recital, kissed 
her warmly on both cheeks, which made a rosy glow 
mount to the young girl’s forehead. 


182 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A REPRIEVE. 

I T^INE went to Blanche and the Abb^ Chastanier the 
? next morning. She wished to accompany them 
to the door of the President’s hotel, to learn without 
delay the result of their undertaking. Marius, reali- 
zing that his presence would be painful to Mile, de 
Cazalis, moved about the Cours like a soul in torment, 
following the two young girls and the priest in the 
distance. When the seekers for mercy had entered 
the hStel, the flower-girl noticed the young man and 
made him a sign to join her. They then waited, 
without exchanging a word, agitated and anxious. 

The President received Blanche with great commis- 
seration. He realized that she was the most cruelly 
stricken of all in this unfortunate affair. The poor 
child could not speak ; she burst into sobs at the first 
word she attempted to utter, and her whole suppliant 
being begged for pity more touchingly than her prayers 
would have done. The Abb^ Chastanier was com- 
pelled to explain their presence and present the 
request. 

Monsieur,” said he to the President, ‘‘ we come to 
you with clasped hands. Mile, de Cazalis is already 
broken by the misfortunes which have overwhelmed* 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 183 


her. She prays you in mercy to spare her a new 
humiliation.” 

“ What do you desire of me ? ” asked the President, 
in an agitated voice. 

“We desire that you may, if possible, prevent an 
additional trouble. M. Philippe Cayol has been sen- 
tenced to public exposure, and that punishment will 
shortly be inflicted. But the infamy will not fall on 
him alone ; there will be more than one culprit fas- 
tened to the pillory: there will also be a poor, suffering 
child, who asks pity of you. You understand, do you 
not ? The cries of the crowd, the insults, will rebound 
upon Mile, de Cazalis; she will be dragged in the mud 
by the populace, and her name will circulate around 
the ignoble post, coupled with hateful jeers and foul 
expressions.” 

The President seemed deeply touched. He was 
silent for a moment. Then, as if seized by a sudden 
idea, he inquired : 

“ Did M. de Cazalis send you to me ?’ Is he aware 
of the step you have taken ? ” 

“No,” answered the priest, with frank dignity; 
“M. de Cazalis does not know we are here. Men 
have interests and passions which carry them away 
and, sometimes, prevent them from forming a clear 
judgment of their position. Perhaps, we are acting 
contrary to the desire of Mile. Blanche’s uncle in 
coming to solicit your intervention. But goodness 
and justice are above the passions and the interests 
of men. Therefore, I have no fear of compromising 


184 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


my sacred character in taking it upon myself to ask 
you to be good and just.” 

‘‘You are right, Monsieur,” said the President. “I 
understand the motives which have brought you here, 
and, as you see, your words have strongly affected me. 
Unfortunately, I cannot prevent the punishment; it 
is not in my power to modify a decree of the Cour 
d’ Assises.” 

Blanche clasped her hands. 

“ Monsieur,” stammered she, “ I do not know what 
you can do for me; but, I pray you, be merciful: 
think that it is T whom you have sentenced, and try to 
alleviate my sufferings.” 

The President took her hands and replied, with 
paternal gentleness : 

“ My poor child, I understand everything. My role 
in this affair has been painful. To-day, I am grieved 
that I cannot say to you: ‘Fear nothing; I can set 
aside the pillory, and you shall not be fastened to the 
post with the condemned.’ ” 

“Then,” resumed the priest, in dismay, “the 
exposure must soon take place. You are not even 
permitted to retard the deplorable scene.” 

The President had arisen. 

“The Ministre de la Justice, upon the demand of 
the Procureur G^n^ral, can postpone the execution of 
the sentence,” said he, quickly; “do you desire that 
the exposure shall not occur until the latter part of 
December? In that event, I shall be happy to prove 
to you the extent of my compassion and good will.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 185 


“Yes, yes,” cried Blanche, eagerly. “Postpone the 
terrible moment as long as possible. I shall, perhaps, 
be stronger then.” 

The Abb^ Chastanier, who was aware of Marius’ 
projects, thought that, at the President’s promise, he 
ought to retire, without further importunity. He 
joined Blanche in accepting the offer made to them. 

“Very well; it is settled,” said the President, accom- 
panying them to the door. “I shall ask that the 
course of justice be suspended for four months, and I 
am convinced that my request will be granted. Until 
then, live in peace. Mademoiselle. Hope; Heaven will, 
perhaps, send some consolation for your sufferings.” 

The abb^ and Blanche left the house. When Fine 
perceived them, she ran to meet them. 

“Well?” asked she, breathlessly. 

“As I told you,” answered the Ahh6 Chastanier, 
“the President cannot prevent the execution of the 
sentence.” 

The flower-girl turned pale. 

“ But,” the old priest hastened to add, “ he has 
promised to interpose to obtain a postponement of 
the exposure. You have four months before you in 
which to work for the prisoner’s welfare.” 

Marius, in spite of himself, had approached the 
group formed by the young girls and the abb^. 
The street, silent and solitary, lay white beneath the 
glowing sun of noon; slight tufts of grass surrounded 
the shining paving stones, and a single lean dog slunk 
along in the narrow thread of shade which skirted 
the houses. 


186 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


When the young man heard the Abb^ Chastanier’s 
words, he advanced with a sudden movement and 
grasped his hands effusively. 

‘‘Ah! father,” said he, in a trembling voice, “you 
restore me hope and faith. Since yesterday, I have 
doubted God I How shall I thank you, how prove to 
you my gratitude I Now, I feel invincible courage 
and am certain of saving my brother I ” 

Blanche, at the sight of Marius, bowed her head. 
A burning flush mounted to her cheeks. She stood, 
confused and embarrassed, suffering horribly from the 
presence of Philippe’s brother, who knew her to be a 
perjurer and whom her uncle and she had plunged in 
despair. The young man, when his joy had grown 
somewhat calm, regretted that he had approached. 
The doleful attitude of Mile, de Cazalis filled him 
with pity. 

“ My brother has been shamefully guilty,” said he 
to her, at last. “ But pardon him as I pardon you I ” 
He could find only those words. He would have 
liked to speak to her of her child, question her as to 
the lot in reserve for that poor little being, claim it of 
her in Philippe’s name. But he saw her so over- 
whelmed that he dare not torture her further. 

Without doubt. Fine had comprehended his thoughts. 
While he walked a few steps with the Abb^ Chas- 
tanier, she said to Blanche, in a hurried voice : 

“ Bear in mind that I have offered to be a mother to 
your child. Now, I love you; I see that you have a 
stout heart. Make a sign, and I will fly to your aid. 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


187 


Besides, I will watch ; I do not wish the poor little 
creature to suffer from the folly of its parents.” 

Blanche silently grasped the flower-girl’s hand. 
That was her sole response. Huge tears ran down 
her cheeks. 

Mile, de Cazalis and the Abb^ Chastanier set out 
immediately for Marseilles. Fine and Marius hastened 
to the prison. They informed Revert^gat that they 
had four months in which to prepare for the escape, 
and the jailer swore to them that he would keep his 
word, no matter on what day or at what hour they 
should summon him to do so. 

Before quitting Aix, the two young people wished 
to see Philippe, in order to tell him of what had taken 
place and bid him hope. That night, at eleven o’clock, 
Revert^gat again took them to the cell. Philippe, who 
was becoming accustomed to prison life, did not seem 
to them very greatly dejected. 

“ Provided that you save me from the ignominy of 
the public exposure,” said he to them, “ I will consent 
to everything. I would rather break my head against 
a wall than be fastened to the infamous pillory! ” 

Finally, the next day, the diligence bore Marius and 
Fine back to Marseilles. They were about to continue 
the struggle on a larger scale. They were about to 
search the depths of human consciences and see 
exposed the vices of a great city, given up to all the 
disorders of modern industry. 


188 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


CHAPTER XX. 

POLITICS AND JUSTICE. 

M eanwhile, political complications had arisen 
in Marseilles. The liberals had of late received 
numerous accessions and felt their power. They were 
thoroughly dissatisfied with the course of M. de Caza- 
lis as a deputy, and his pride and arrogant conduct as 
an individual utterly disgusted them. Besides, his 
merciless persecution of Philippe Cayol, whom they 
recognized as one of their chiefs, filled them with 
rage, especially as they knew that in disgracing him 
the deputy was striking the party and taking revenge 
for having been compelled in the past to pay court to 
the republicans. 

Another election was approaching, and the opposi- 
tion loudly declared that M. de Cazalis, who was again 
a candidate, should not be re-chosen deputy. The can- 
vass promised to be unusually bitter and exciting ; the 
adherents of Philippe Cayol were eveiywhere firing 
the populace and urging that an overwhelming demon- 
stration against M. de Cazalis be made by the masses. 
In fact, the injustice done to Philippe gave signs of 
being an important issue in the campaign. 

Such was the commotion that the Government, 
becoming alarmed, had summoned M. de Cazalis to 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


189 


Paris to confer with him respecting the threatening 
state of affairs. 

Marius and Fine returned to Marseilles when the 
excitement was at its height. The young man was 
everywhere received by the liberals with enthusiasm 
which showed plainly that he had suddenly become 
a person of importance. The masses cheered him in 
the streets, and wherever he went crowds of girls of 
the people waved their handkerchiefs in his honor. 

Fine was proud of Marius’ vast popularity; she 
neglected no opportunity of adding fuel to the flames 
by telling the women what a noble fellow he was, and 
how he had unselfishly devoted himself to the cause 
of his brother, the victim of aristocratic tyranny. 

Marius had not yet decided what steps to take for 
furthering the object nearest his heart — the raising of 
the fifteen thousand francs to secure Philippe’s libera- 
tion — when, early one morning, there was a sharp 
knock at the door of his apartment on the Rue Sainte. 

The young man opened the door; he was filled 
with amazement to find that his visitor was M. de 
Girousse. 

“You are astonished to see me here, are you not?” 
said the comte, in his usual abrupt fashion. “Well, 
you will be still more astonished when you learn my 
errand ! ” 

M. de Girousse entered the room and took the chair 
Marius offered him. His eyes sparkled strangely, as 
he resumed : 

“ It is in your power to do a little towards bringing 


190 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


the proud and slothful nobles to their senses ; at the 
same time, you can save your brother ! ” 

Marius stared at him in stupefaction. The comte 
continued; 

‘‘Do you not know that you are to-day the most 
popular man in all Marseilles, as M. de Cazalis is the 
most unpopular? Have you not noticed that the 
liberals are in the ascendant, that they will surely 
carry the approaching election ? There is your 
opportunity ! ” 

“I do not understand you,” stammered the young 
man. 

“ Are you blind ! ” cried the comte, rising and impa- 
tiently pacing the apartment. “ The liberals are 
organized and powerful; they have able leaders; all 
they need is a suitable and popular candidate. You 
are that man ! ” 

M. de Girousse stopped in front of Marius and 
looked him straight in the face. 

The young man was astounded. The idea of taking 
advantage of the political commotion and his personal 
popularity to oust the deputy from power had never 
entered his brain. 

“But I am no politician,” said he ; “I am unknown 
to the leaders of the republicans. Besides, I have not 
the money to cope with M. de Cazalis in the campaign.” 

“ You are unknown to the leaders of the repub- 
licans ! ” cried M. de Girousse. “ Not a bit of it ! 
You are known to all of them; the advisability of 
your nomination is even at this moment being dis- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 191 

cussed. As to money, I will aid you to raise all you 
may require. I came to Marseilles to tell you this, 
and also to urge you, if only for your brother’s sake, 
to accept the nomination which will certainly be 
tendered you.” 

Marius put his hands to his head in bewilderment. 
He thought he was dreaming. But a short time before 
he had been powerless, and M. de Cazalis had towered 
above him like a giant; now, he was informed that he 
could humble the arrogant deputy, and that he might 
speedily have sufficient influence to save Philippe. 
The comte interrupted his reverie by saying: 

“ Will you accept the nomination I have spoken of?” 

‘‘To help my brother — yes!” replied Marius, with 
determination. 

M. de Girousse then departed, first giving the young 
man his address in Marseilles, and exacting from him 
a promise to come to him at once should anything 
having a political significance occur. 

The comte had hardly gone when Fine made her 
appearance, out of breath and flushed with excitement. 

“ Do you know what has happened, Marius ? ” asked 
she, as soon as she could find words. “ No ; you could 
never guess I They say in the streets that the liberals 
have named you as their candidate for deputy against 
Blanche’s uncle! ” 

Marius’ eyes flashed. Vengeance was, indeed, within 
his grasp, if nothing more. 

“M. de Girousse was here just before you came,’* 
said he. “ He informed me that my nomination was 


192 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 

probable ; he also urged me to accept, offered me 
money to carry on the canvass, and said that my 
election meant Philippe’s safety!” 

Fine clapped her hands joyously. 

“You will accept?” said' she. 

“I will!” 

During the day, Marius was officially notified of his 
nomination and accepted. He had grave misgivings 
as to the step he was taking, but the thought of his 
brother nerved and sustained him. 

The young man at once sought out M. de Girousse 
and told him the news. The comte grasped him cor- 
dially by the hand, assuring him that his success was 
now onlj" a matter of time. 

On both sides, the campaign was pushed with 
extreme vigor. The nobles and some of the priests 
rallied about M. de Cazalis ; but a powerful faction of 
the clergy, headed by the wily Abbe Donad^i, joined 
the liberal forces. The shrewd Italian had scented 
the coming storm ; with his natural quickness, he saw 
to which side victor}^ inclined and threw all his weight 
into the winning scale. M. de Cazalis put in circula- 
tion all sorts of slanders in regard to Marius : he was a 
scoundrel and a reprobate, the terror of honest families, 
and deserved to be in prison with his infamous brother; 
if he had his deserts, he would be pilloried with him. 
The unscrupulous deputy gave the names of people 
he had ruined, of others whose peace of mind he had 
forever destroyed. The liberals retorted by asserting 
that M. de Cazalis had forced his niece to commit per- 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 193 

jury, to turn against the man she loved ; that he had 
deliberately and in cold blood concocted the out- 
rageous plot to disgrace Philippe Cayol ; that he was 
a wretch and a knave ; that he had made capital 
out of Blanche’s flight with which to crush the 
people in the person of an innocent man, and that 
he ought to be punished for his crimes instead of being 
re-elected deputy. 

Marius through all this maintained a calm dignity, 
acting on advice given him by M. de Girousse. But 
Fine could not be controlled ; she was constantly in a 
fever of excitement, and her enthusiasm for the candi- 
date of the liberals knew no bounds; the indignation 
she felt at the vile slanders current in regard to Marius 
fell little short of absolute fury; could she have come 
in contact with M. de Cazalis, she would have done 
her best to strangle him. 

M. de Girousse did not openly take part in the cam- 
paign,, but he moved a host of secret springs, making 
it his business to counteract all the shrewd trickery 
resorted to by M. de Cazalis and his adherents. When- 
ever it was known that votes had been purchased for 
the deputy, the comte promptly furnished money to 
buy an equal number for Marius. He remained quietly 
in Marseilles, keeping his eyes and ears wide open. 

At length, the election took place, and Marius was 
triumphantly chosen deputy, M. de Cazalis sustaining 
an overwhelming defeat. 

The first use the new deputy made of his power was 

12 


194 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


to cause Philippe’s case to be reopened by the Cour 
d’ Assises at Aix. 

Blanche again appeared as a witness. She had 
escaped from her uncle’s control and, for some time 
past, had remained in concealment at the house of the 
Abb^ Chastanier’s infirm sister in Marseilles, Fine 
being almost constantly with her and ministering to 
all her needs like a sister. The poor child stood up in 
the court-room, pale and trembling, supported on one 
side by the old priest and on the other by the faithful 
flower-girl. In an almost inaudible voice, she told the 
true story of her flight with Philippe, declaring that 
she had voluntarily followed the young man because 
she loved him ; that she had married him and had 
always considered herself his wife, and that her state- 
ment at the former trial had been dictated to her by 
her iron-willed uncle, whom she had not had the 
strength of mind to resist. 

The vast audience present received her testimony 
with murmurs of applause, which were promptly 
suppressed by the court officials. 

Philippe sat in his place, his countenance radiant 
with joy and hope. On hearing Blanche’s evidence, 
he felt that he loved the young girl more than ever. 

The Lambesc inn-keeper repeated that while at his 
house Mile, de Cazalis had called Philippe her hus- 
band, and Marguerite, the milkmaid, deposed that she 
now perfectly remembered having carried letters from 
Mile. Blanche to her lover. 

Marius detailed all that had occurred during his 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 195 


interview with his brother and the young girl at the 
house of the gardener Ayasse at Saint-Barnab^ ; he 
spoke in a firm, manly tone which cari ied conviction 
with it. 

The result was the acquittal of Philippe Cayol, and 
the arrest of M. de Cazalis on the charge of conspiracy 
to ruin the young man. The gardener Ayasse was 
released from prison by order of the President. 

In due course, Philippe was set at liberty. Marius 
was waiting to receive him, in company with Fine and 
the Abb^ Chastanier. As the jailer Revertegat deliv- 
ered his prisoner to them, Marius slipped a packet into 
his hand. 

“ Take it,” said he ; ‘‘ it contains the fifteen thou- 
sand francs promised you. I am happy to give you 
the sum with the knowledge that you have earned it 
solely by your kindness and that it is not the price of 
a criminal act ! ” 

It should be stated here that, immediately after 
Marius’ election, the banker B^rard, becoming fright- 
ened, had restored to him the fifty thousand francs left 
by his mother. 

Revertegat took the money and silently walked 
away, but a suspicious moisture in his eyes told that 
his heart was touched. 

Philippe grasped his brother’s hand effusively. 

‘‘ How can I thank you ! ” he said. 

“ By making reparation to the young girl you have 
wronged ! ” answered Marius, sternly. 

“But will she accept me as her husband, after all 
my baseness ? ” asked Philippe, greatly agitated. 


196 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


Fine came forward and Philippe, with a sudden 
return of his old inclinations, moved as if to kiss her 
on the cheek. 

^‘No!” said she, repulsing him with an air of sor- 
row and regret. ‘‘ In the sight of God, you are the 
husband of another ! You ask if Mile. Blanche 
will accept you. I reply that she will ! ” 

The Abb^ Chastanier interposed. 

My son,” said he, “ I have just quitted Mile, de 
Cazalis. Rest assured that she will do everything 
required of her by the laws of God and human 
justice.” 

Philippe looked joyously around him. 

“ And I, too, will do everything required of me by 
the laws of God and human justice ! ” said he, firmly. 
“But will M. de Cazalis, proud and haughty as he is, 
sanction our union ? ” 

“As matters now stand,” replied the old priest, 
“ the law will permit us to dispense with his consent.” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 197 


CHAPTER XXI. 

REPARATION AND REWARD. 

T he interview between Blanche and Philippe was 
embarrassing. The young girl scarcely lifted 
her eyes from the floor when her lover came into her 
presence ; he stood for a moment gazing sorrowfully 
into her pale and altered face. 

“ Blanche,” said he, at last — ‘‘ my wife ! ” 

He took her hand and softly caressed it. 

Courage returned to the young girl ; she raised her 
eyes and gazed tenderly at her lover, but still not a 
syllable came from her lips, which seemed dry and 
parched. 

“Blanche,” continued Philippe, “give me a word 
of comfort and hope ; tell me that you will be mine ; 
tell me that you will consent to have our already pro- 
nounced nuptial vows renewed before the Mayor and 
in church.” 

The poor girl blushed scarlet and trembled from 
head to foot, but her lips remained sealed. 

“Blanche! Blanche!” cried the young man, in 
despair, “is all the love you once felt for me cold 
and dead in your bosom ? You are suffering, child ; 
speak ! ” 

Blanche shuddered. 


198 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


‘‘ Do not recall our old love, Philippe ! ” said she, in 
a voice quivering with agony; ‘‘it was unblest and 
unholy! I was a rash, inexperienced girl, and did not 
know what I was doing I ” 

“So be it,” answered Philippe, solemnly: “let our 
old love perish ; but, from its ashes, may not a new 
and purer love arise — a love the law will authorize 
and the church sanctify? — the love which unites two 
hearts and makes them beat with a single throb I ” 

“Yes,” murmured she, “such a love might arise; 
but I am unworthy of it. I have betrayed you — I 
have cast you into prison I ” 

“But you have also delivered me; you were unjust 
only because your proud and revengeful uncle com- 
pelled you to be so ; when you were free to act as you 
chose, you hastened to my relief, to repair the injury 
you had inflicted on me. I have long since forgiven 
you, and now I ask you to forgive me.” 

Philippe spoke with Are and earnestness. Blanche 
was deeply moved. 

“ I, too, forgave you long ago,” she replied, in an 
agitated voice. 

“ Then love me now and be my wife,” said Philippe, 
eagerly; “think of the pure happiness of wedlock; 
think that our child will be legitimized.” 

Mile, de Cazalis burst into tears; Philippe caught 
her in his arms; he impressed a burning kiss upon 
her lips. 

“ Do not refuse me,” he pleaded ; “ I am sincere — 
I will make amends for all the bitter past.” 


THE MYSTEKIES OF MARSEILLES. 


199 


The young girl did not seek to free herself; she 
remained passively in her lover’s arms ; but she sobbed 
as if her heart would break. 

“ Do you consent to be my wife ? ” continued Phi- 
lippe; “do you consent to give me an opportunity to 
prove that I really love you for yourself alone?” 

“ Yes,” murmured Blanche, “ for now I know that 
you speak the truth ! ” 

At that moment there was a discreet knock at the 
door, and an instant afterwards the Abb4 Chastanier 
entered the apartment. He saw at a glance how 
matters stood, and a calm smile lighted up his face. 

“ My children,” said he, “ I have brought with me 
a person who ardently desires to see you, that he may 
in some measure atone for the misery he has caused 
you. Shall he come in?” 

Blanche and Philippe, in surprise, nodded consent. 
Their surprise deepened to amazement when the old 
priest, going to the door, ushered in M. de Cazalis in 
the custody of two court officers. The ex-deputy was 
humbled and penitent. Blanche ran to him. He took 
her hands in his and said, in a voice entirely stripped 
of its usual haughtiness : 

“ My child, I come to do you tard}^ justice. I feel 
that you can never pardon me for all the evil I have 
done, but I shall strive, at least, to deserve a kind 
thought from you.” 

Turning to Philippe, he added : 

“You will soon have your revenge, for I shall be 
convicted and sent to prison ; but, before that supreme 


200 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


disgrace prostrates me in the dust, let me say that I 
withdraw all obstacles to your union with my niece ; 
nay, that I freely consent to that union.” 

He turned and left the room with the officers. 
Blanche and Philippe tried in vain to stop him. 

‘‘Let him go,” said the Ahh6 Chastanier; “he has 
repented and made amends. God will blot out his 
crimes ! ” 

A few evenings after this scene, Marius went to 
Fine’s dwelling on the Place aux CEufs in Marseilles. 
He was evidently a prey to some strong excitement 
which he did his best to conceal. 

At the door, he met the flower-girl’s brother Cadet. 

“ Cadet,” said he, in a rather tremulous voice which 
he strove to render firm, “ is your sister within ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the young fellow; “but she is terribly 
dejected. I think that Monsieur Philippe’s approach- 
ing marriage with Mile, de Cazalis has something to do 
with it ! ” he added, archly. 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Marius. “ I know she loved 
him.” 

He found Fine busily engaged with her bouquets 
for the following day; but she went about her work 
mechanically, and, as her brother had said, she was 
terribly dejected. 

The young deputy spoke some comforting words to 
her, but his excitement betrayed itself to such an 
extent that his companion at last noticed it and said ; 

“What is the matter with you, to-night? Has 
anything gone wrong ? ” 


THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 201 

“No,” replied he; “everything is entirely satisfac- 
tory, but, the fact is, I have something important to 
say to you.” 

“To me!” 

“Yes.” 

“ What can it be ? ” cried Fine, throwing back her 
head with a remnant of her old coquettishness. 

“ Only this : I wish to ask you to be Madame 
Marius Cayol I ” 

Fine dropped her bouquets, and said, with a hollow 
laugh ; 

“ Oh ! no ! That would never do I The honor is 
too great! A fine figure, indeed, I would cut as a 
deputy’s wife ! Besides, my heart is dead ! ” 

“I know you loved Philippe,” rejoined Marius; 
“ but, as it is impossible for him to marry two wives, 
why cannot you make his ugly brother happy? You 
are as. worthy to be a deputy’s wife as I am to be a 
deputy! ” 

“But you never told me you loved me before 
to-night ! ” 

“ I have loved you for a long while, nevertheless ; in 
fact, ever since, while striving to aid Philippe, you 
showed me what a great heart you have.” 

Fine looked serious. 

“And shall I tell you something, too. Monsieur 
Marius ? ” asked she, blushing. 

“ Of course ; confessions seem to be abundant ! ” 

“Well, then, I will; but, remember, it is a great 
secret: I have loved you — a little — ever since you 


202 THE MYSTERIES OF MARSEILLES. 


declined to allow my uncle to liberate your brother 
before we paid him the fifteen thousand francs!” 

Marius was not a demonstrative young man, but he 
could not help giving the jSower-girl a rousing kiss 
full in the mouth. 

“ When shall the wedding take place ? ” asked he, 
gallantly. 

“ Whenever you like ! ” answered Fine. 

“ By the way,” said Marius, as a thought suddenly 
came to him, “why were you so dejected when I 
came in?” 

“ Because I fancied that you would not care for me 
now you had become a deputy I ” 

In due time, every formality having been complied 
with, there was a double civil marriage at the mayor’s 
office in Marseilles. The contracting parties were 
Philippe and Blanche, the newly-chosen deputy and 
Josephine Cougourdan, now no longer Fine, the flower- 
girl. The next day, at the Saint-Victor Church, the 
Abb^ Chastanier celebrated the nuptials of the two 
couples according to the rite of God. 

M. de Cazalis was tried and convicted, but, through 
the intercession of Marius Cayol, he was sentenced to 
only a single month’s imprisonment. 


THE MILLER’S DAHGHTER. 


By EMILE ZOLA. 


CHAPTER 1. 

THE BETEOTHAL. 

P ERE MERLIER’S mill, one beautiful summer 
evening, was arranged for a grand f§te. In 
the courtyard were three tables, placed end to end, 
which awaited the guests. Every one knew that 
Frangoise, Merlier’s daughter, was that night to be 
betrothed to Dominique, a young man who was accused 
of idlenesss, but whom the fair sex for three leagues 
around gazed at with sparkling eyes, such a fine 
appearance had he. 

P^re Merliers mill was pleasing to look upon. It 
stood exactly in the centre of Rocreuse, where the 
highway made an elbow. The village had but one 
street, with two rows of huts, a row on each side of 
the road; but, at the elbow,, meadows spread out and 
huge trees, which lined the banks of the Morelle, 
covered the extremity of the valley with lordly shade. 
There was not, in all Lorraine, a corner of nature 
more adorable. To the right and to the left, thick 
woods, centenarian forests, towered up from gentle 

( 203 ) 


204 THE miller’s daughter. 

slopes, filling the horizon with a sea of verdure, while, 
towards the south, the plain stretched away, of mar- 
vellous fertility, displaying as far as the eye could 
reach patches of ground divided by green hedges. 
But what constituted the special charm of Rocreuse 
was the coolness of that cut of verdure in the most 
sultry days of July and August. The Morelle 
descended from the forests of Gagny, and seemed to 
have gathered the cold from the foliage beneath which 
it flowed for leagues ; it brought with it the murmur- 
ing sounds, the icy and concentrated shade of the 
woods. And it was not the sole source of coolness: 
all sorts of flowing streams gurgled through the 
forests; at each step, springs bubbled up; one felt, 
on following the narrow pathways, that there must 
exist subterranean lakes which pierced through beneath 
the moss and availed themselves of the smallest crev- 
ices, at the feet of trees or between the rocks, to burst 
forth in crystalline fountains. The whispering voices 
of these brooks were so numerous and so loud that 
they drowned the song of the bullflnches. It was like 
some enchanted park, with cascades falling from every 
portion. 

Below, the meadows were damp. Gigantic chestnut 
trees cast dark shadows. On the borders of the 
meadows, long hedges of poplars exhibited in lines 
their rustling branches. Two avenues of enormous 
plane trees stretched across the fields towards the 
ancient Chateau de Gagny, then a mass of ruins. In 
this constantly watered district, the grass grew to an 


THE miller’s daughter. 205 

extraordinary height. It resembled a garden between 
two wooded hills, a natural garden, of which the 
meadows were the lawns, the giant trees marking the 
colossal flower-beds. When the sun’s rays, at noon, 
poured straight downward, the shadows assumed a 
bluish tint, the scorched grass slept in the heat, while 
an icy shiver passed beneath the foliage. 

And there it was that P^re Merlier’s mill enlivened 
with its tic-tac a corner of wild verdure. The struc- 
ture, built of plaster and planks, seemed as old as the 
world. It dipped partially in the Morelle, which 
rounded at that point into a transparent basin. A 
sluice had been made, and the water fell from a height 
of several metres upon the mill wheel, which cracked 
as it turned, with the asthmatic cough of a faithful 
servant grown old in the house. When Pdre Merlier 
was advised to change it, he shook his head, saying 
that a new wheel would be lazier and would not so 
well understand the work ; and he mended the old one 
with whatever he could put his hands on : cask staves, 
rusty iron, zinc and lead. The wheel appeared gayer 
than ever for it, with its profile grown odd, all plumed 
with grass and moss. When the water beat upon it 
with its silvery flood, it was covered with pearls, its 
strange carcass wore a sparkling attire of necklaces of 
mother-of-pearl. 

The part of the mill which dipped in the Morelle had 
the air of a barbaric arch, stranded there. A full half 
of the structure was built on piles. The water flowed 
beneath the floor, and deep places were there, renowned 


206 THE miller’s daughter. 


throughout the district for the enormous eels and cray- 
fish caught in them. Below the fall, the basin was as 
clear as a mirror, and, when the wheel did not cover it 
with foam, schools of huge fish could be seen, swim- 
ming with the slowness of a squadron. Broken steps 
led down to the river, near a stake to which a boat was 
moored. A wooden gallery passed above the wheel. 
Windows opened, pierced irregularly. It was a pell- 
mell of corners, of little walls, of constructions added 
too late, of beams and of roofs, which gave the mill 
the aspect of an old, dismantled citadel. But ivy 
had grown ; all sorts of clinging plants stopped the 
too wide chinks and threw a green cloak over the 
ancient building. The young ladies who passed by 
sketched P^re Merlier’s mill in their albums. 

On the side facing the highway, the structure was 
more solid. A stone gateway opened upon the wide 
courtyard, which was bordered to the right and to the 
left by sheds and stables. Beside a well, an immense 
elm covered half the courtyard with its shadow. In 
the background, the building displayed the four win- 
dows of its second-story, surmounted by a pigeon 
house. P^re Merlier’s sole vanity was to have this 
front plastered every ten years. It had just received 
a new coating, and dazzled the village when the sun 
shone on it at noon. 

For twenty years, P^re Merlier had been mayor of 
Rocreuse. He was esteemed for the fortune he had 
acquired. His wealth was estimated at something 
like eighty thousand francs, amassed sou by sou. 


THE miller’s daughter. 207 

When he married Madeleine Guillard, who brought 
him the mill as her dowry, he possessed only his two 
arms. But Madeleine never repented of her choice, so 
briskly did he manage the business. Now, his wife 
was dead, and he remained a widower with his daughter 
Fran^oise. Certainly, he might have rested, allowed 
the mill wheel to slumber in the moss ; but that would 
have been too dull for him, and in his eyes the 
building would have seemed dead. He toiled on for 
pleasure. 

P^re Merlier was a tall old man, with a long, 
still face, who never laughed, but who possessed, not- 
withstanding, a very gay heart. He had been chosen 
mayor because of his money, and also on account of 
the imposing air he could assume during a marriage 
ceremony. 

Francoise Merlier was just eighteen. She did not 
pass for one of the handsome girls of the district, as 
she was not robust. Up to her fifteenth year, she had 
been even ugly. 

The Rocreuse people had not been able to under- 
stand why the daughter of Pdre and Mdre Merlier, 
both of whom had always enjoyed excellent health, 
grew ill and with an air of regret. But, at fifteen, 
though yet delicate, her little face became one of 
the prettiest in the world. She had black hair, 
black eyes, and was as rosy as a peach ; her lips 
constantly wore a smile, there were dimples in her 
cheeks, and her fair forehead seemed crowned with 
sunlight. Although not considered robust in the 


208 THE miller’s daughter. 


district, she was far from thin ; the idea was simply 
that she could not lift a sack of grain ; but she would 
become plump as she grew older — she would eventually 
be as round and dainty as a quail. Her father’s long 
periods of silence had made her thoughtful very 
young. If she smiled constantly, it was to please 
others. By nature she was serious. 

Of course, all the young men of the district paid 
court to her, more on account of her ^cus than her 
pretty ways. At last, she made a choice which scan- 
dalized the community. 

On the opposite bank of the Morelle lived a tall 
youth named Dominique Penquer. He did not be- 
long to Rocreuse. Ten years before, he had arrived 
from Belgium as the heir of his uncle, who had 
left him a small property upon the very border of 
the forest of Gagny, just opposite the mill, a few 
gunshots distant. He had come to sell this pro- 
perty, he said, and return home. But the district 
charmed him, it appeared, for he did not quit it. He 
was seen cultivating his little field, gathering a few 
vegetables upon which he subsisted. He fished and 
hunted; many times, the forest guards nearly caught 
him and were on the point of drawing up proc^s-ver- 
baux against him. This free existence, the resources 
of which the peasants could not clearly discover, at 
length gave him a bad reputation. He was vaguely 
styled a poacher. At any rate, he was lazy, for he was 
often found asleep on the grass when he should have 
been at work. The hut he inhabited, beneath the last 


THE miller’s daughter. 209 


trees on the edge of the forest, did not seem at all like 
the dwelling of an honest young fellow. If he had 
had dealings with the wolves of the ruins of Gagny, 
the old women would not have been the least bit sur- 
prised. Nevertheless, the young girls sometimes risked 
defending him, for this doubtful man was superb ; 
supple and tall as a poplar, he had a very white skin, 
with flaxen hair and beard which gleamed like gold in 
the sun. 

One fine morning, Fran^oise declared to Pdre 
Merlier that she loved Dominique and would never 
wed any other man. 

It may well be imagined what a blow this was to 
Pdre Merlier. He said nothing, according to his cus- 
tom, but his face grew thoughtful and his internal 
gayety no longer sparkled in his eyes. He looked 
gruff for a week. Fran9oise also was exceedingly 
grave. What tormented P^re Merlier was to find out 
how this rogue of a poacher had managed to fascinate 
his daughter. Dominique had never visited the mill. 
The miller watched and saw the gallant, on the other 
side of the Morelle, stretched out upon the grass and 
feigning to be asleep. FraiiQoise could see him from 
her chamber window. Everything was plain : they 
had fallen in love by casting sheep’s eyes at each other 
over the mill wheel. 

Another week went by. Fran^oise became more and 
more grave. Pdre Merlier still said nothing. Then, 
one evening, he himself silently brought in Dominique. 
Fran9oise, Mt that moment, was setting the table. She 
13 


210 THE miller’s daughter. 

did not seem astonished ; she contented herself with 
putting on an additional plate, knife and fork; but 
the little dimples were again seen in her cheeks and 
her smile reappeared. That morning, Pere Merlier 
had sought out Dominique in his hut on the border of 
the wood. 

There, the two men had talked for three hours, 
with doors and windows closed. What was the pur- 
port of their conversation no one ever knew. Cer- 
tain it was, however, that P^re Merlier, on taking his 
departure, already called Dominique his son-in-law. 
Without doubt, the old man had found the youth he 
had gone to seek — a worthy youth — in the lazy fellow 
who stretched himself out upon the grass to make the 
girls fall in love with him. 

All Rocreuse clamored. The women at the doors 
had plenty to say on the subject of the folly of Pere 
Merlier, who had thus introduced a reprobate into his 
house. The miller let people talk on. Perhaps, he 
remembered his own marriage. He was without a sou 
when he wedded Madeleine and her mill ; this, how- 
ever, had not prevented him from making a good 
husband. Besides, Dominique cut short the gossip by 
going so vigorously to work that all the district was 
amazed. The miller’s assistant had just been drawn to 
serve as a soldier, and Dominique would not suffer 
another to be engaged. He carried the sacks, drove 
the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when it 
refused to turn, and all this with such good will that 
people came to see him out of curiosity. Pdre Merlier 


THE miller's daughter. 211 

had his silent laugh. He was excessively proud of 
having formed a correct estimate of this youth. Tliere 
is nothing like love to give courage to young folks. 
Amid all these heavy labors, Fran^oise and Dominique 
adored each other. They did not indulge in lovers’ 
talks, but there was a smiling gentleness in their 
glances. 

Up to that time, P^re Merlier had not spoken 
a single word on the subject of marriage, and they 
respected this silence, awaiting the old man’s will. 
Finally, one day towards the middle of July, he 
caused three tables to be placed in the courtyard, 
beneath the great elm, and invited his friends of 
Rocreuse to come in the evening and drink a glass 
of Avine with him. 

When the courtyard was full and all had their 
glasses in their hands, Pdre Merlier raised his very 
high and said : 

‘‘I have the pleasure to announce to you that Fran- 
9oise will wed this young fellow here in a month, 
on Saint-Louis’ Day.” 

Then, they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But 
P^re .Merlier, again lifting his voice, exclaimed : 

“Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your 
right.” 

They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, 
while all the guests laughed joyously. It was a 
genuine fete. They emptied a small cask of wine. 
Then, when all were gone but intimate friends, the 
conversation was carried on without noise. The night 


212 THE millek’s daughter. 


had fallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique 
and Fran^oise, seated side by side on a bench, said 
nothing. 

An old peasant spoke of the war the Emperor had 
declared against Prussia. All the village lads had 
already departed. On the preceding day troops had 
again passed through the place. There was going to 
be hard fighting. 

‘‘ Bah ! ” said Pdre Merlier, with the selfishness of a 
happy man, “ Dominique is a foreigner ; he will not go 
to the war. And, if the Prussians come here, he will 
be on hand to defend his wife ! ” 

The idea that the Prussians might come there 
seemed a good joke. They were going to receive 
a sound whipping, and the affair would soon be over. 

“ I have already seen them, I have already seen 
them,” repeated the old peasant, in a hollow voice. 

There was silence. Then, they drank again. Fran- 
^oise and Dominique had heard nothing ; they had 
gently taken each other by the hand, behind the bench, 
so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so de- 
lightful that they remained where they were, their 
eyes plunged into the depths of the shadows. 

What a warm and superb night it was! The village 
slumbered on both edges of the white highway in 
infantile quietude. From time to time was heard the 
crowing of some chanticleer aroused too soon. From 
the huge woods near by came long breaths, which 
passed over the roofs like caresses. The meadows, 
with their dark shadows, assumed a mysterious and 


THE miller’s daughter. 213 


dreamy majesty, while all the springs, all the flowing 
waters which gurgled in the darkness seemed to be the 
cool and rhythmical respiration of the sleeping coun- 
try. Occasionally, the ancient mill wheel, lost in a 
doze, appeared to dream like those old watch-dogs that 
bark while snoring; it cracked, it talked to itself, 
rocked by the fall of the Morelle, the surface of 
which gave forth the musical and continuous sound of 
an organ pipe. Never had more profound peace 
descended upon a happier corner of nature. 


214 THE miller’s daughter. 


CHAPTER IL 


THE ATTACK OK THE MILL. 

MONTH later, on the day preceding that of 



Jl\, Saint-Louis, Rocreuse was in a state of terror. 
The Prussians had beaten the Emperor and were 
advancing by forced marches towards the village. 
For a week past, people who hurried along the highway 
had been announcing them thus ; “ They are at Lor- 

miSre — they are at Novelles ! ” and, on hearing that 
they were drawing near so rapidly, Rocreuse, every 
morning, expected to see them descend from the woods 
of Gagny. They did not come, however, and that 
increased the fright. They would surely fall upon the 
village during the night and slaughter everybody. 

That morning, a little before sunrise, there was an 
alarm. The inhabitants were awakened by the loud 
tramp of men on the highway. The women were 
already on their knees, making the sign of the cross, 
when some of the people, peering cautiously through 
the partially opened windows, recognized the red 
pantaloons. It was a French detachment. The Ccxp- 
tain immediately asked for the mayor of the district, 
and remained at the mill, after having talked with 
PSre Merlier. 

The sun rose gayly, that morning. It would be hot 


THE miller’s daughter. 215 

at noon. Over the woods floated a golden brightness, 
while, in the distance, white vapors arose from the 
meadows. The neat and pretty village awoke amid 
the fresh air, and the country, with its river and its 
springs, had the moist sweetness of a bouquet. But 
that beautiful day caused nobody to smile. The cap- 
tain was seen to take a turn around the mill, examine 
the neighboring houses, pass to the other side of the 
Morelle, and from there study the district with a field- 
glass; Pere Merlier, who accompanied him, seemed to 
be giving him explanations. Then, the captain posted 
soldiers behind the walls, behind the trees and in the 
ditches. The main body of the detachment encamped 
in the courtyard of the mill. Was there going to be a 
battle? When P^re Merlier returned, he was ques- 
tioned. He nodded his head, without speaking. Yes, 
there was going to be a battle ! 

Fran^oise and Dominique were in the courtyard ; 
they looked at him. At last, he took his pipe from his 
mouth, and said : 

“ Ah ! my poor young ones, you cannot get married 
to-morrow ! ” 

Dominique, his lips pressed together, with an angry 
frown on his forehead, at times raised himself on tip- 
toe and fixed his eyes upon the woods of Gagny, as if 
he wished to see the Prussians arrive. Fran9oise, very 
pale and serious, came and went, furnishing the soldiers 
with what they needed. The troops were making soup 
in a corner of the courtyard ; they joked while wait- 
ing for it to get ready. 


216 THE miller’s daughter. 

The captain was delighted. He had visited the 
chambers and the huge hall of the mill which looked 
out upon the river. Now, seated beside the well, he 
was conversing with Pere Merlier. 

“Your mill is a real fortress,” said he. “We can 
hold it without difficulty until evening. The bandits 
are late. They ought to be here.” 

The miller was grave. He saw his mill burning like 
a torch ; but he uttered no complaint, thinking such a 
course useless. He merely said : 

“You had better hide the boat behind the wheel; 
there is a place there just fit for that purpose. Perhaps, 
it will be useful to have the boat.” 

The captain gave the requisite order. This oflBcer 
was a handsome man of forty ; he was tall and had an 
amiable countenance. The sight of Fran^oise and 
Dominique seemed to please him. He contemplated 
them as if he had forgotten the coming struggle. He 
followed Frangoise with his ej^es, and his look told 
plainly that he thought her charming. Then, turning 
towards Dominique, he asked, suddenly: 

“ Why are you not in the army, my good fellow ? ” 

“I am a foreigner,” answered the young man. 

The captain evidently did not attach much weight 
to this reason. He winked his eye and smiled. Fran- 
goise was more agreeable company than a cannon. On 
seeing him smile, Dominique added: 

“I am a foreigner, but I can put a ball in an apple 
at five hundred metres. There is my hunting gun 
behind you.” 


THE miller’s daughter. 217 

You may have use for it,” responded the captain, 
dryly. 

Frangoise had approached, somewhat agitated. With- 
out heeding the strangers present, Dominique took and 
grasped in his the two hands she extended to him as if 
to put herself under his protection. The captain 
smiled again, but said not a word. He remained 
seated, his sword across his knees and his eyes plunged 
into space, lost in a reverie. 

It was already ten o’clock. The heat had become 
very great. A heavy silence prevailed. In the court- 
yard, in the shadows of the sheds, the soldiers had 
begun to eat their soup. Not a sound came from the 
village ; all its inhabitants had barricaded the doors 
and windows of their houses. A dog, alone upon the 
highway, howled. From the neighboring forests and 
meadows, swooning in the heat, came a prolonged and 
distant voice, made up of all the scattered breaths. A 
cuckoo sang. Then, the silence grew more intense. 

Suddenly, in that slumbering air, a shot was heard. 
The captain leaped briskly to his feet, the soldiers 
left their plates of soup, yet half full. In a few sec- 
onds ever3d)ody w^as at the post of duty ; from bottom 
to top the mill was occupied. Meanwhile, the captain, 
who had gone out upon the road, had discovered noth- 
ing ; to the right and to the left, the highway stretched 
out, empty and white. • A second shot was heard, and 
still nothing visible, not even a shadow. But, as he 
was returning, the captain perceived in the direction 
of Gagny, between two trees, a light puff of smoke 


218 THE miller’s daughter. 

whirling away like thistledown. The wood was calm 
and peaceful. 

“ The bandits have thrown themselves into the 
forest,” muttered he. “ They know we are here.” 

Then the firing continued, growing more and more 
vigorous, between the French soldiers, posted around 
the mill, and the Prussians, hidden behind the trees. 
The balls whistled above the Morelle, without dama- 
ging either side. The fusillade* was irregular, the shots 
coming from every bush ; and still only the little puffs 
of smoke, tossed gently by the breeze, w’ere seen. 
This lasted nearly two hours. The ofiScer hummed 
a tune with an air of indifference. Frangoise and 
Dominique, who had remained in the courtyard, raised 
themselves on tiptoe and looked over a low wall. 
They were particularly interested in a little soldier, 
posted on the shore of the Morelle, behind the remains 
of an old batteau; he stretched himself out flat on the 
ground, watched, fired, and then glided into a ditch a 
trifle further back to reload his gun ; and his move- 
ments were so droll, so tricky and so supple, that they 
smiled as they looked at him. He must have perceived 
the head of a Prussian, for he arose quickly and 
brought his weapon to his shoulder ; but, before he 
could fire, he uttered a cry, fell and rolled into the 
ditch, where, for an instant, his legs twitched convul- 
sively like the claws of a chicken just killed. The 
little soldier had received a ball full in the breast. He 
was the first man slain. Instinctively, Fran^oise seized 
Dominique’s hand and clasped it with a nervous con- 
traction. 


THE miller’s daughter. 219 


“Move away,” said the captain. “You are within 
range of the balls.” 

At that moment, a sharp little thud was heard in 
the old elm, and a fragment of a branch came whirling 
down. But the two 3'oung folks did not stir; they 
were nailed to the spot by anxiety to see what was 
going on. On the edge of the wood, a Prussian had 
suddenly come out from behind a tree as from a 
theatre stage entrance, beating the air with his hands 
and falling backwards. Nothing further moved; the 
two corpses seemed asleep in the broad sunlight ; not a 
living soul was seen in the scorching country. Even 
the crack of the fusillade had ceased. The Morelle 
alone whispered in its clear tones. 

Pere Merlier looked at the captain with an air of 
surprise, as if to ask him if the struggle was over. 

“ They are getting ready for something worse,” mut- 
tered the officer. “Don’t trust appearances. Move 
away from there.” 

He had not finished speaking when there was a 
terrible discharge of musketry. The great elm was 
riddled and a host of leaves shot into the air. The 
Prussians had happily fired too high. Dominique 
dragged, almost carried Fran^oise away, while Pdre 
Merlier followed them, shouting : 

“ Go down into the cellar ; the walls are solid ! ” 

But they did not heed him ; they entered the huge 
hall, where ten soldiers were waiting in silence, watch- 
ing through the chinks in the closed window-shutters. 
The captain was alone in the courtyard, crouching 


220 THE miller’s daughter. 


behind the little wall, wh\le the furious discharges 
continued. Without, the soldiers he had posted gave 
ground only foot by foot. However, they re-entered 
one by one, crawling, when the enemy had dislodged 
them from their hiding-places. Their orders were to 
gain time, and not show themselves that the Prussians 
might remain in ignorance as to what force was before 
them. Another hour went by. As a sergeant arrived, 
saying that but two or three more men remained with- 
out, the captain glanced at his watch, muttering: 

“Half-past two o’clock. We must hold the position 
four hours longer.” 

He caused the great gate of the courtyard to be 
closed, and every preparation was made for an ener- 
getic resistance. As the Prussians were on the oppo- 
site side of the Morelle, an immediate assault was not 
to be feared. There was a bridge two kilometres 
away, but they evidently were not aware of its ex- 
istence, and it was hardly likely that they would 
attempt to ford the river. The officer, therefore, sim- 
ply ordered the highway to be watched. Every effort 
would be made in the direction of the country. 

Again the fusillade had ceased. The mill seemed 
dead beneath the glowing sun. Not a shutter was 
open ; no sound came from the interior. At length, 
little by little, the Prussians showed themselves at the 
edge of the forest of Gagny. They stretched their 
necks, and grew bold. In the mill, several soldiers 
had already raised their guns to their shoulders; but 
the captain cried: 


THE millek’s daughter. 221 

‘‘No, no; wait. Let them come nearer.” 

They were exceedingly prudent, gazing at the mill 
with a suspicious air. The silent and sombre old 
structure, with its curtains of ivy, filled them with 
uneasiness. Nevertheless, they advanced. When fifty 
of them were in the opposite meadow, the officer 
nttered the single word : 

“Fire!” 

A crash was heard; isolated shots followed. Fran- 
^oise, all of a tremble, had mechanically put her hands 
to her ears. Dominique, behind the soldiers, looked 
on ; when the smoke had somewhat lifted, he saw three 
Prussians stretched upon their backs in the centre of 
the meadow. The others had thrown themselves be- 
hind the willows and poplars. Then, the siege began. 

For more than an hour, the mill was riddled with 
balls. They dashed against the old walls like hail. 
When they struck the stones they were heard to 
flatten and fall into the water. They buried them- 
selves in the wood with a hollow sound. Occasionally, 
a sharp crack announced that the mill wheel had been 
hit. The soldiers in the interior were careful of their 
shots ; they fired only when they could take aim. From 
time to time, the captain consulted his watch. As a 
ball broke a shutter and ploughed into the ceiling, he 
said to himself : 

“Four o’clock. We shall never be able to hold 
out!” 

Little by little, the terrible fusillade weakened the 
old mill. A shutter fell into the water, pierced like a 


222 THE miller’s daughter. 

bit of lace, and it was necessary to replace it with a 
mattress. Pere Merlier constantly exposed himself to 
ascertain the extent of the damage done to his poor 
wheel, the cracking of which made his heart ache. All 
would be over with it this time ; never could he repair 
it. Dominique had implored Fran^oise to withdraw, 
but she had refused to leave him ; she was seated behind 
a huge oaken clothes-press, which protected her. A ball, 
however, struck the clothes-press, the sides of which 
gave forth a hollow sound. Then, Dominique placed 
himself in front of Frangoise. He had not yet fired a 
shot ; he held his gun in his hand, but was unable to 
approach the windows, which were altogether occupied 
by the soldiers. At each discharge, the floor shook. 

‘‘ Attention ! attention ! ” suddenly cried the captain. 

He had just seen a great dark mass emerge from the 
wood. Immediately a formidable platoon fire opened. 
It was like a water-spout passing over the mill. An- 
other shutter was shattered, and, through the gaping 
opening of the window, the balls entered. Two sol- 
diers rolled upon the floor. One of them lay like a 
stone ; they pushed the body against the wall because 
it was in the way. The other twisted in agony, beg- 
ging his comrades to finish him ; but they paid no 
attention to him. The balls entered in a constant 
stream ; each man took care of himself and strove to 
find a loop-hole through which to return the fire. A 
third soldier was hit ; he uttered not a word ; he fell 
on the edge of a table, with eyes fixed and haggard. 
Opposite these dead men, Fran9oise, stricken with hor- 


THE miller’s daughter. 223 


ror, had mechanically pushed away her chair to sit on 
the floor against the wall ; she thought she would take 
up less room there and not be in so much danger. 
Meanwhile, the soldiers had collected all the mat- 
tresses of the household and partially stopped up the 
window with them. The hall was filled with wrecks, 
with broken weapons and demolished furniture. 

‘‘ Five o’clock,” said the captain, ‘‘ Keep up your 
courage ! They are about to try to cross the river ! ” 

At that moment, Frangoise uttered a cry. A ball 
which had ricochetted had grazed her forehead. Several 
drops of blood appeared. Dominique stared at her; 
then, approaching the window, he fired his first shot. 
Once started, he did not stop. He loaded and 
fired without heeding what was passing around him, 
but from time to time he glanced at Frangoise. He 
was very deliberate and aimed with care. The Prus- 
sians, keeping beside the poplars, attempted the passage 
of the Morelle, as the captain had predicted ; but, as 
soon as a man strove to cross, he fell, shot in the head 
b}^ Dominique. The captain, who had his eyes on the 
young man, was amazed. He complimented him, say- 
ing that he should be glad to have many such skilful 
marksmen. Dominique did not hear him. A ball cut 
his shoulder, another wounded his arm, but he con- 
tinued to fire. 

There were two more dead men. The mangled 
mattresses no longer stopped the windows. The last 
discharge seemed as if it would have carried away 
the mill. The position had ceased to be tenable. 
Nevertheless, the captain said, firmly : 


224 THE miller’s daughter. 

“ Hold your ground for half an hour more ! ” 

Now, he counted the miiiutes. He had promised 
his chiefs to hold the enemy in check there until even- 
ing, and he would not give an inch before the hour 
he had fixed on for the retreat. He preserved his 
amiable air and smiled upon Fran^oise to reassure her. 
He had picked up the gun of a dead soldier and him- 
self was firing. 

Only four soldiers remained in the hall. The Prus- 
sians appeared in a body on the other side of the 
Morelle, and it was clear that they intended speedily 
to cross the river. A few minutes more elapsed. The 
stubborn captain would not order the retreat. Just 
then, a sergeant hastened to him and said : 

They are upon the highway ; they will take us in 
the rear!” 

The Prussians must have found the bridge. The 
captain pulled out his watch and looked at it. 

“Five minutes longer,” said he. “They cannot get 
here before that time ! ” 

Then, at six o’clock exactly, he at last consented 
to lead his men out through a little door which opened 
into a lane. From there they threw themselves into a 
ditch ; they gained the forest of Sauval. Before taking 
his departure, the captain bowed very politely to Pdre 
Merlier and made his excuses, adding : 

“ Amuse them I We will return ! ” 

Dominique was now alone in the hall. He was still 
firing, hearing nothing, understanding nothing. He 
felt only the need of defending FraiiQoise. He had 


THE miller’s daughter. 225 


not the least suspicion in the world that the soldiers 
had retreated. He aimed and killed his man at every 
shot. Suddenly, there was a loud noise. The Prus- 
sians had entered the courtyard from behind. Domi- 
nique fired a last shot, and they fell upon him while 
his gun was yet smoking. 

Four men held him. Others vociferated around 
him in a frightful language. They were ready to 
slaughter him on the spot. Fran§oise, with a suppli- 
cating look, had cast herself before him. But an 
officer entered and ordered the prisoner to be de- 
livered up to him. After exchanging a few words 
ill German with the soldiers, he turned towards 
Dominique and said to him, roughly, in very good 
French: 

“You will be shot in two hours!” 

14 


226 THE miller’s daughter. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FLIGHT. 

I T was a settled rule of the German staff that every 
Frenchman, not belonging to the regular army, 
taken with arms in his hands should be shot. The 
militia companies themselves were not recognized as 
belligerents. By thus making terrible examples of 
the peasants who defended their homes, the Germans 
hoped to prevent the levy en masse, which they 
feared. 

The officer, a tall, lean man of fifty, bi iefly ques- 
tioned Dominique. Although he spoke remarkably 
pure French, he had a stiffness altogether Prussian. 

‘‘ Do you belong to this district ? ” asked he. 

‘^No; I am a Belgian,” answered the young man. 

‘‘ Why then did you take up arms? The fighting 
did not concern you ! ” 

Dominique made no reply. At that moment, the 
officer saw Fran9oise who was standing by, very pale, 
listening; upon her white forehead her slight wound 
had put a red bar. He looked at the young folks, one 
after the other, seemed to understand matters and 
contented himself with adding : 

‘‘You do not deny having fired, do you?” 

“ I fired as often as I could ! ” responded Dominique, 
tranquilly. 


THE miller’s daughter. 


227 


This confession was useless, for he was black with 
powder, covered with sweat and stained with a few 
drops of blood which had flowed from the scratch on 
his shoulder. 

“Very well,” said the officer. “You will be shot in 
two hours ! ” 

Frangoise did not cry out. She clasped her hands 
and raised them with a gesture of mute despair. The 
officer noticed this gesture. Two soldiers had taken 
Dominique to a neighboring apartment, vffiere tliey 
were to keep watch over him. The young girl had 
fallen upon a chair, totally overcome ; she could not 
weep, she was suffocating. The officer had continued 
to examine her. At last, he spoke to her. 

“Is that young man your brother?” he demanded. 

She shook her head negatively. The German stood 
stiffly on his feet, without a smile. Then, after a short 
silence, he again asked : 

“ Has he lived long in the district ? ” 

She nodded affirmatively. 

“ In that case, he ought to be thoroughly acquainted 
with the neighboring forests.” 

This time, she spoke. 

“ He is thoroughly acquainted with them, Mon- 
sieur,” said she, looking at him with considerable 
surprise. 

He said nothing further to her, but turned upon his 
heel, demanding that the mayor of the village should 
be brought to him. But FranQoise had arisen, with a 
slight blush on her countenance; thinking that she 


228 THE miller's daughter. 


had seized the aim of the officer’s questions, she had 
recovered hope. She herself ran to find her father. 

Pere Merlier, as soon as the firing had ceased, had 
quickly descended to the wooden gallery to examine 
his wheel. He adored his daughter; he had a solid 
friendship for Dominique, his future son-in-law; but 
his wheel also held a large place in his heart. Since 
the two young ones, as he called them, had come safe 
and sound out of the fight, he thought of his other 
tenderness, which had suffered greatly. Bent over the 
huge wooden carcass, he was studying its wounds with 
a sad air. Five buckets were shattered to pieces ; the 
central framework was riddled. He thrust his fingers 
in the bullet holes to measure their depth; he thought 
how he could repair all these injuries. Frangoise 
found him already stopping up the clefts with rubbish 
and moss. 

“Father,” said she, “you are wanted.” 

And she wept, at last, as she told him what she had 
just heard. P^re Merlier tossed his head. People 
were not shot in such a summary fashion. The mat- 
ter must be looked after. He re-entered the mill, with 
his silent and tranquil air. When the officer de- 
manded of him provisions for his men, he replied that 
the inhabitants of Rocreuse were not accustomed to be 
treated roughly, and that nothing would be obtained 
from them if violence were employed. He would see 
to everything, but on condition that he was not inter- 
fered with. The officer at first seemed irritated by his 
calm tone; then, he gave way before the old man’s 


THE miller’s daughter. 229 

short and clear words. He even called him back and 
asked him ; 

‘‘What is the name of that wood opposite?” 

“ The forest of Sauval.” 

“ What is its extent? ” 

The miller looked at him fixedly. 

“ I do not know,” he answered. 

And he went away. An hour later, the contribu- 
tion of war in provisions and money, demanded by the 
officer, was in the courtyard of the mill. Night came 
on. Fran^oise watched with anxiety the movements 
of the soldiers. She hung about the room in which 
Dominique was imprisoned. Towards seven o’clock, 
she experienced a poignant emotion. She saw tbe 
officer enter the prisoner’s apartment, and, for a quar- 
ter of an hour, heard their voices in loud conversa- 
tion. For an instant, the officer reappeared upon the 
threshold to give an order in German, which she did 
not understand ; but, when twelve men ranged them- 
selves in the courtyard, their guns on their shoulders, 
she trembled and felt as if about to faint. All then 
was over ; the execution was going to take place. The 
twelve men stood there ten minutes, Dominique’s voice 
continuing to be raised in a tone of violent refusal. 
Finally, the officer came put, saying, as he roughly 
shut the door : 

“Very well; reflect. I give you until to-morrow 
morning.” 

And, with a gesture, he ordered the twelve men to 
break ranks. Fran§oise was stupefied. Pdre Merlier, 


230 THE miller’s daughter. 

who had been smoking his pipe and looking at the 
platoon simply with an air of curiosity, took her by 
the arm with paternal gentleness. He led her to her 
chamber. 

“ Be calm,” said he, “ and try to sleep. To-morrow, 
when it is light, we will see what can be done.” 

As he withdrew, he prudently locked her in. It was 
his opinion that women are good for nothing, and that 
they spoil everything when they take a hand in a 
serious affair. But Fran^oise did not retire. She sat 
for a long while upon the side of her bed, listening to 
the noises of the house. The German soldiers, en- 
camped in the courtyard, sang and laughed ; thej^ must 
liawe been eating and drinking until eleven o’clock, for 
the racket did not cease an instant. In the mill itself, 
heavy footsteps resounded from time to time, without 
doubt those of the sentinels who were being relieved. 
But she w’as interested most by the sounds she could 
distinguish in the apartment beneath her chamber. 
Many times she stretched herself out at full length 
and put her ear to the floor. That apartment was the 
one in which Dominique was confined. He must have 
been walking back and forth from the window to the 
wall, for she long heard the regular cadence of his 
steps. Then, deep silence ensued ; he had, doubtless, 
seated himself. Finally, every noise ceased and all 
was as if asleep. When slumber appeared to her to 
have settled on the house, she opened her window as 
gently as possible and leaned her elbows on the sill. 

Without, the night had a warm serenity. The slen- 


THE miller’s daughter. 231 

der crescent of the moon, which was sinking behind 
the forest of Sauval, lighted up the country with the 
glimmer of a night-lamp. The lengthened shadows of 
the tall trees barred the meadows with black, while 
the grass in uncovered spots assumed the softness of 
greenish velvet. But Fran^oise did not pause to 
admire the mysterious charms of the night. She ex- 
amined the country, searching for the sentinels whom 
the Germans had posted obliquely. She clearly saw 
their sha,dows extending like the rounds of a ladder 
along the Morelle. Only one was before the mill, 
on the other shore of the river, beside a willow the 
branches of which dipped in the water. Fran9ois0 
saw him plainly. He was a tall man and was standing 
motionless, his face turned towards the sky, with the 
dreamy air of a shepherd. 

When she had carefully inspected the locality, she 
again seated herself on her bed. She remained there 
an hour, deeply absorbed. Then, she listened once 
more : there was not a sound in the mill. She returned 
to the window and glanced out; but, doubtless, one of 
the horns of the moon, which was still visible behind 
the trees, made her uneas}^, for she resumed her waiting 
attitude. At last, she thought the proper time had 
come. The night was as black as jet; she could no 
longer see the sentinel opposite ; the country spread 
out like a pool of ink. She strained her ear for an 
instant and made her decision. Passing near the win- 
dow, was an iron ladder, the bars fastened to the wall, 
which mounted from the wheel to the garret, and 


232 THE miller’s daughter. 

formerly enabled the millers to reach certain ma- 
chinery; afterwards, the mechanism had been altered, 
and for a long while, the ladder had been hidden 
under the thick ivy which covered that side of the 
mill. 

Frangoise bravely climbed out of her window and 
grasped one of the bars of the ladder. She began to 
descend. Her skirts embarrassed her greatly. Sud- 
denly a stone was detached from the wall and fell into 
the Morelle with a loud splash. She stopped, with an 
icy shiver of fear. Then, she realized that the water- 
fall, with its continuous roar, would drown every noise 
she might make, and she descended more courageously, 
feeling the ivy with her foot, assuring herself that the 
rounds were firm. When she was at the height of the 
chamber which served as Dominique’s prison, she 
paused. An unforeseen difficulty nearly caused her to 
lose all her courage : the window of the chamber was 
not directly below that of her apartment. She hung off 
from the ladder, but, when she stretched out her arm, 
her hand encountered only the wall. Must she, then, 
ascend without pushing her plan to completion? Her 
arms were fatigued; the murmur of the Morelle be- 
neath her commenced to make her dizzy. Then, she 
tore from the wall little fragments of plaster and threw 
them against Dominique’s window. He did not hear; 
he was, doubtless, asleep. She crumbled more plastei* 
from the wall, scraping the skin off her fingers. She 
was utterly exhausted; she felt herself falling back-* 
wards, when Dominique, at last, softly opened the 
window. 


THE millek’s daughter. 233 

“ It is I ! ” murmured she. ‘‘ Catch me quickly ; I 
am falling ! ” 

It was the first time, that she had addressed him 
familiarly. Leaning out, he seized her and drew her 
into the chamber. There, she gave vent to a flood of 
tears, stifling her sobs that she might not be heard. 
Then, by a supreme effort, she calmed herself. 

“ Are you guarded? ” asked she, in a low voice. 

Dominique, still stupefied at seeing her thus, nodded 
his head affirmatively, pointing to the door. On the 
other side they heard some one snoring ; the sentinel, 
yielding to sleep, had thrown himself on the floor, 
against the door, arguing that, by disposing himself 
thus, the prisoner could not escape. 

“You must fly,” resumed FranQoise, excitedly. “I 
have come to beg you to do so and to bid you 
farewell.” 

But he did not seem to hear her. He repeated: 

“ What ! is it you, is it you ? Oh ! what fear you 
caused me ! You might have killed yourself! ” 

He seized her hands ; he kissed them. 

“How I love you, Fran9oise I ” murmured he. “You 
are as courageous as good. I had only one dread : that 
I should die without seeing you again. But you are 
here, and now they can shoot me. When I have 
passed a quarter of an hour with you, I shall be 
ready.” 

Little by little, he had drawn her to him, and she 
leaned her head upon his shoulder. The danger made 
them dearer to each other. They forgot everything in 
that warm clasp. 


234 THE miller’s daughter. 


“ Ah ! Fran§oise,” resumed Dominique, in a caress- 
ing voice, “ this is Saint-Louis’ Day, the day so long 
awaited of our marriage. Nothing has been able to 
separate us, since we are both here alone, faithful to 
the appointment. Is not this our wedding morning?” 

“Yes, yes,” repeated she, “it is our wedding 
morning.” 

They tremblingly exchanged a kiss. But, all at 
once, she disengaged herself from Dominique’s arms ; 
she remembered the terrible reality. 

“You must fly, you must fly,” whispered she. 
“ There is not a minute to be lost ! ” 

And, as he stretched out his arms in the darkness 
to clasp her again, she said, tenderly: 

“ Oh ! I implore you to listen to me ! If you die, I 
shall die also ! In an hour it will be light. I want 
you to go at once.” 

Then, rapidly, she explained her plan. The iron 
ladder descended to the mill wheel; there he could 
climb down the buckets and get into the boat which 
was hidden away in a nook. Afterwards, it would be 
easy for him to reach the other bank of the river and 
escape. 

“ But what of the sentinels?” asked he. 

“ There is only one, opposite, at the foot of the first 
willow.” 

“ What if he should see me and attempt to give an 
alarm ? ” 

Fran9oise shivered. She placed in his hand a knife 
she had brought with her. There was a brief silence. 


THE miller’s daughter. 235 

‘‘What is to become of your father and yourself? ” 
resumed Dominique. “No, I cannot fly! When I 
am gone, those soldiers will, perhaps, massacre you 
both! You do not know them. They offered me my 
life if I would consent to guide them through the 
forest of Sauval. When they discover my escape, 
they will be capable of an3ffhing ! ’’ 

The young girl did not stop to argue. She said, 
simply, in reply to all the reasons he advanced : 

“Out of love for me, fly! If you love me, Domi- 
nique, do not remain here another moment ! ” 

Then, she promised to climb back to her chamber. 
No one would know that she had helped him. She 
finally threw her arms around him, to convince him 
with an embrace, with a burst of extraordinary love. 
He was vanquished. He asked but one more question: 

“ Can you swear to me that your father knows what 
you have done and that he advises me to fly ? ” 

“ My father sent me ! ” answered Fran^oise, boldly. 

She told a falsehood. At that moment, she had only 
one immense need : to know that he was safe, to escape 
from the abominable thought that the sun would be 
the signal for his death. When he was far away every 
misfortune might fall upon her; that would seem 
delightful to her, from the moment he was secure. 
The selfishness of her tenderness desired that he 
should live, before everything. 

“Very well,” said Dominique; “I will do what you 
wish.” 

They said nothing more. Dominique re-opened the 


236 THE miller's daughter. 

window. But, suddenly, a sound froze them. The 
door was shaken, and they thought that it was about 
to be opened. Evidently, a patrol had heard their 
voices. Standing, locked in each other’s arms, they 
waited in unspeakable anguish. The door was shaken 
a second time, but it did not open. They uttered low 
sighs of relief ; they comprehended that the soldier 
who was asleep against the door must have turned 
over. Ill fact, silence succeeded; the snoring was 
resumed. 

Dominique exacted that Fran§oise should ascend to 
her chamber before he departed. He clasped her in 
his arms and bade her a mute adieu. Then, he aided 
her to seize the ladder and clung to it in his turn. But 
he refused to descend a single round until convinced 
that she was in her apartment. When Fran9oise had 
entered her window, she let fall, in a voice as light as 
a breath : 

“ Au revoir, my love ! ” 

She leaned her elbows on the sill and strove to 
follow Dominique with her eyes. The night was yet 
very dark. She searched for the sentinel, but could 
not see him ; the willow alone made a pale stain in the 
midst of the gloom. For an instant, she heard the 
sound produced by Dominique’s body in passing along 
the ivy. Then, the wheel cracked, and there was a 
slight agitation in the water which told her that the 
young man had found the boat. A moment after- 
wards, she distingushed the sombre silhouette of the 
bateau on the gray surface of the Morelle. Terrible 


THE miller's daughter. 237 


anguish again seized upon her. Each instant, she 
thought she heard the sentinel’s cry of alarm ; the 
smallest sounds scattered through the gloom seemed 
to her the hurried tread of soldiers, the clatter of 
weapons, the charging of guns. Nevertheless, the 
seconds elapsed and the country maintained its pro- 
found peace. Dominique must have reached the other 
side of the river. Fran^oise saw nothing more. The 
silence was majestic. She heard a shuffling of feet, 
a hoarse cry and the hollow fall of a body. After- 
wards, the silence grew deeper. Then, as if she had 
felt Death pass by, she stood, chilled through and 
through, staring into the thick night. 


238 THE miller’s daughter. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 

T dawn, a clamor of voices shook the mill. Pere 



Merlier opened the door of Fraii^oise’s chamber. 
She went down into the courtyard, pale and very calm. 
But, there, she could not repress a shiver, as she saw 
the corpse of a Prussian soldier, stretched out on a 
cloak beside the well. 

Around the body, troops gesticulated, uttering cries 
of fuiy. Many of them shook their fists at the village. 
Meanwhile, the officer had summoned Pere Merlier as 
the ma3’or of the commune. 

‘‘ Look ! ” said he to him, in a voice almost choking 
with anger. “ There lies one of our men who was 
found assassinated upon the bank of the river. We 
must make a terrible example, and I count on you to 
aid us in discovering the murderer.” 

“ As you choose,” answered the miller, with his 
usual stoicism ; ‘‘ but you will find it no easy task.” 

The officer stooped and drew aside a part of the 
cloak which hid the face of the dead man. Then, 
appeared a horrible wound. The sentinel had been 
struck in the throat, and the weapon had remained in 
the cut. It was a kitchen knife with a black handle. 

Examine that knife,” said the officer to Pere 
Merlier; perhaps, it will help us in our search.” 


THE MILEEU’S DAUGHTER. 239 


The old man gave a start, but recovered control of 
himself immediately. He replied, without moving a 
muscle of his face : 

‘‘Everybody in the district has similar knives. 
Doub^ess, your man was w^eary of fighting and put 
an end to his own life. It looks like it ! ” 

“Mind what you say cried the officer, furiously. 
“ I do not know what prevents me from setting fire to 
the four corners of the village ! ” 

Happily, in his rage, he did 'not notice the deep 
trouble pictured on Fran<^oise’s countenance. She had 
been forced to sit down on a stone bench near the 
W'ell. Despite herself, her eyes were fixed upon the 
corpse, stretched out on the ground almost at her feet. 
It was that of a tall and handsome man, who resembled 
Dominique, with flaxen hair and blue eyes. This 
resemblance made her heart ache. She thought that, 
perhaps, the dead soldier had left behind him, in Ger- 
many, a sweetheart who would weep her eyes out for 
him. She recognized her knife in the throat of the 
murdered man. She had killed him. 

The officer was talking of striking Rocreuse with 
terrible measures, when soldiers came running to him. 
Dominique’s escape had just been discovered. It 
caused an extreme agitation. The officer went to the 
apartment in which the prisoner had been confined, 
looked out of the window which had remained open, 
understood everything and returned exasperated. 

Pere Merlier seemed greatly vexed by Dominique’s 
flight. 


240 THE miller’s daughter. 

The imbecile ! ” he muttered. “ He has ruined all ! ” 

Fran^oise heard him and was overcome with anguish. 
But the miller did not suspect her of complicity in 
the affair. He tossed his head, saying to her in an 
undertone : 

‘‘We are in a nice scrape ! ” 

“ It was that wretch who assassinated the soldier ! 
I am sure of it ! ” cried the officer. “ He has undoubt- 
edly reached the forest. But he must be found for us, 
or the village shall pay for him ! 

Turning to the miller, he said: 

“ See here ; you ought to know where he is hidden ! ” 

P^re Merlier laughed silently, pointing to the wide 
stretch of wooded hills. 

“ Do you expect to find a man in there ? ” said he. 

“Oh! there must be nooks there with which you 
are acquainted. I will give you ten men. You must 
guide them.” 

“As you please. But it will take a week to search 
all the woods in the vicinity.” 

The old man’s tranquillity enraged the officer. In 
fact, the latter comprehended the absurdity of this 
search. At that moment, he saw Frangoise, pale and 
trembling, on the bench. The anxious attitude of the 
young girl struck him. He was silent for an instant, 
during which he in turn examined the miller and his 
daughter. 

At length, he demanded roughly of the old man : 

“Is not that fellow your child’s lover?” 

Pere Merlier grew livid, and seemed about to hurl 


THE miller’s daughter. 241 


himself upon the officer to strangle him. He stiffened 
himself, but made no answer. Fraiu^oise buried her 
face in her hands. 

“Yes, that’s it!” continued the Prussian, “and you 
or our daughter helped him to escape ! One of j'ou 
is his accomplice ! For the last time, will you give 
him up to us ? ” 

The miller uttered not a word. He turned away 
and looked into space with an air of indifference, as if 
the ofScer had not addressed him. This brought the 
latter’s rage to a head. 

“Very well!” shouted he. “You shall be shot in 
his place ! ” 

And he again ordered out the platoon of execution. 
P^re Meiiier remained as stoical as ever. He hardly 
even shrugged his shoulders ; all this drama appeared 
to him in bad taste. Without doubt, he did not 
believe that they w’ould shoot a man so lightly. But, 
when the platoon drew up before him, he said, gravely : 

“So, it is serious, is it? Go on with your bloody 
work, then ! If you must have a victim, I will do as 
well as another ! ” 

But Frangoise started up, terrified, stammering: 

“ In pity. Monsieur, do no harm to my father ! Kill 
me in his stead I I aided Dominique to fly ! I alone 
am guilty ! ” 

“Hush, my child ! ” cried PSre Merlier. “Why do 
you tell an untruth? She passed the night locked in 
her chamber, Monsieur. She tells a falsehood, I 
assure you ! ” 

15 


242 T n E M I L L E II’ S DAUGHTER. 


“No, I do not tell a falsehood ! ’’ resumed the young 
girl, ardently. “I climbed out of my window and 
went down the iron ladder ; I urged Dominique to liy. 
This is the truth, the whole truth! ” 

The old man became very pale. He saw clearly in 
her eyes that she did not lie, and her story terrified 
him. Ah I these children, with their hearts, how they 
spoil everything 1 Then, he grew angry and exclaimed : 

She is mad ; do not heed her. She tells you stupid 
tales. Come, finish your work I ” 

She still protested. She knelt, clasping her hands. 
The officer tranquilly watched this dolorous struggle. 

“ Mon Dieu ! ” said he, at last, “ I take your father 
because I have not the other. Find the fugitive and 
the old man shall be set at liberty I ” 

She gazed at him with staring eyes, astonished at 
the atrocity of the proposition. 

“How horrible!” murmured she. “Where do you 
think I can find Dominique at this hour? He has 
departed; I know no more about him.” 

“ Come, nuike your choice — him or your father.” 

“ Oh ! moil Dieu ! how can I choose ! If I knew 
where Dominique was, I could not choose ! You are 
catting my heart. I would rather die at once. Yes, 
it would be the sooner over. Kill me, I implore you, 
kill me ! ” 

This scene of despair and tears finally made the 
officer impatient. He cried out : 

“Enough ! I will be merciful: I consent to give you 
two hours. If, in that time, your lover is not here, 
your fadier will be shot in his place I” 


THE miller’s daughter. 243 


He caused Pdre Merlier to be taken to the chamber 
which had served as Dominique’s prison. The old 
man demanded tobacco and began to smoke. Upon 
his impassible face not the slightest emotion was visi- 
ble. But, when alone, as he smoked, he shed two big 
tears which ran slowly down his cheeks. His poor, 
dear child, how she was suffering ! 

Frangoise remained in the middle of the courtyard. 
Prussian soldiers passed, laughing. Some of them 
spoke to her, uttered jokes she could not understand. 
She stared at the door through which her father had 
disappeared. With a slow movement she put her 
hand to her forehead, as if to prevent it from bursting. 

The officer turned upon his heel, saying : 

You have two hours. Try to utilize them.” 

She had two hours. This phrase buzzed in her ears. 
Then, mechanically, she quitted the courtyard; she 
walked straight ahead. Where should she go ? — what 
should she do? She did not even try to make a 
decision, because she well understood the inutility of 
her efforts. However, she wished to see Dominique. 
They could have an understanding together; they 
might, perhaps, find an expedient. And, amid the 
confusion of her thoughts, she went down to the shore 
of the Morelle, which she crossed below the sluice, at 
a spot where there were huge stones. Her feet led her 
beneath the first willow, in the corner of the meadow. 
As she stooped, she saw a pool of blood which made 
her turn pale. It was there the murder had been 
committed. She followed the track of Dominique in 


244 THE miller’s daughter. 


the trodden grass ; he must have run, for she perceived 
a line of long footprints stretching across the meadow. 
Then, further on, she lost these traces. But, in a 
neighboring Held, she thought she found them again. 
The new trail conducted her to the edge of the forest, 
where every indication was effaced. 

Fran§oise, nevertheless, plunged beneath the trees. 
It solaced her to be alone. She sat down for an 
instant; but, at the thought that time was passing, 
she leaped to her feet. How long had it been since 
she left the mill? Five minutes? — half an hour? 
She had lost all conception of time. Perhaps, Domi- 
nique had concealed himself in a copse she knew of, 
where they had, one afternoon, eaten filberts together. 
She hastened to the copse, searched it. Only a black- 
bird flew away, uttering its soft, sad note. Then, 
she thought he might have taken refuge in a hollow of 
the rocks, where it had sometimes been his custom to 
lie in wait for game ; but the hollow of the rocks was 
empty. AVhat good was it to hunt for him? — she 
would never find him ; but, little by little, the desire to 
discover him took entire possession of her, and she 
hastened her steps. The idea that he might have 
climbed a tree suddenly occurred to her. She 
advanced with uplifted eyes, and, that he might be 
made aware of her presence, she called him every 
fifteen or twenty steps. Cuckoos answered; a breath 
of wind which passed through the branches made her 
believe that he was there and was descending. Once, 
she even imagined she saw him ; she stopped, almost 


THE miller’s daughter. 245 

choked, and wished to What was she to say to 

him? Had she come to take him back to be shot? 
Oh ! no, she would not tell him what had happened. 
She would cry out to him to escape, not to remain in 
the neighborhood. Then, the thought that her father 
was waiting for her gave her a sharp pain. She fell 
upon the turf, weeping, crying aloud: 

“ Mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! Why am I here ! ” 

She Avas mad to have come. And, as if seized with 
fear, she ran, she souglit to leave the forest. Three 
times, she deceived herself ; she thought she never 
again would find the mill, when she entered a meadow 
just opposite Rocreuse. As soon as she saw the vil- 
lage, she paused. Was she going to return alone? 

She was still hesitating, when a voice softly called: 

“ Fran^oise ! Fran^oise ! ” 

And she saw Dominique, who had raised his head 
above the edge of a ditch. Just God! she had found 
him! Did Heaven wish his death? She restrained 
a cr}^ ; she let herself glide into the ditch. 

“Are you searching for me?” asked the young man. 

“ Yes,” answered she, her brain in a whirl, not know- 
ing what she said. 

“ What has happened ? ” 

She lowered her eyes and stammered: 

“Nothing. I was uneasy; I wanted to see you.” 

Then, reassured, he explained to her that he had 
resolved not to go away. He was doubtful about the 
safety of herself and her father. Those Prussian 
wretches were fully capable of taking vengeance upon 


246 THE miller’s daughter. 


women and old men. But everything was getting on 
well. He added, with a laugh : 

“Onr wedding will take place in a week — I am 
sure of it.” 

Then, as she remained overwhelmed, he grew grave 
again and said : 

“But what ails you? You are concealing some- 
thing from me ! ” 

“No; I swear it to you. I am out of breath from 
running.” 

He embraced her, saying that it was imprudent for 
them to be talking, and he wished to climb out of the 
ditch to returji to the forest. She restrained him. 
She trembled. 

“ Listen,” said she: “it would, perhaps, be wise for 
you to remain where you are. No one is searching 
for you ; you have nothing to fear.” 

“ Fran^oise, you are concealing something from me,” 
repeated lie. 

Again she swore that she was hiding nothing. She 
had simply wished to know that he was near lier. 
And she stammered forth still further reasons. She 
seemed so strange to him that he now could not be 
induced to flee. Besides, he had faith in the return of 
the French. Troops had been seen in the direction of 
Sauval. 

“Ah! let them hurry, let them get here as soon as 
possible ! ” murmured she, ferventl3^ 

At that moment, eleven o’clock sounded from 
the belfiy of Rocreuse. The strokes were clear and 


THE miller’s daughter. 247 

distinct. She arose, with a terrified look ; two hours 
had passed since she quitted the mill. 

Hear me,” said she, rapidly: ‘‘if we have need of 
you, I will wave my handkerchief from my chamber 
window.” 

And she departed on a run, while Dominique, very 
uneasy, stretched himself out upon the edge of the 
ditch to watch the mill. As she was about to enter 
Rocreuse, Fran9oise met an old beggar, Pere Bon- 
temps, who knew everybody in the district. He 
bowed to her; he had just seen the miller in the midst 
of the Prussians; then, making the sign of the cross, 
and muttering broken words, he went on his way. 

“ The two hours have passed,” said the officer when 
Francoise appeared. 

Pere Merlier was there, seated upon the bench, be- 
side the well. He was smoking. The young girl 
again begged, wept, sank on her knees. She wished 
to gain time. The hope of seeing the French return 
had increased in her, and, while lamenting, she thought 
she heard in the distance the measured tramp of an 
army. Oh ! if they would come, if they would deliver 
them all ! 

“ Listen, Monsieur,” said she : “ an hour, another 
hour ; you can grant us another hour ! ” 

But the officer remained inflexible. He even 
ordered two men to seize her and take her away, that 
the}" might quietly proceed with the execution of the 
old man. Then, a frightful struggle took place in 
Fran poise’s heart. She could not allow her father to 


248 THE miller’s daughter. 


be thus assassinated. No, no; she would die rather 
with Dominique. She was running towards her cham- 
ber, when Dominique himself entered the courtyard. 

The officer and the soldiers uttered a shout of 
triumph. But the young man, calmly, with a some- 
what severe look, went up to Francoise, as if she had 
been the only person present. 

“You did wrong,” said he. “Why did you not 
bring me back? It remained for P^re Bontemps to 
tell me everything. But I am here ! ” 


THE miller’s daughter. 249 


CHAPTER V. 

the return of the french. 

I T was three o’clock in the afternoon. Great black 
clouds, the trail of some neighboring storm, had 
slowly filled the sky. The yellow heavens, the brass 
covered uniforms, had changed the valley of Rocreuse, 
so gay in the sunlight, into a den of cut-throats full of 
sinister gloom. The Prussian officer had contented 
himself with causing Dominique to be imprisoned, 
without announcing what fate he reserved for him. 
Since noon, Frangoise had been torn by terrible an- 
guish. Despite her father’s entreaties, she would not 
quit the courtyard. She was awaiting the French. 
But the hours sped on, night was approaching, and 
she suffered the more as all the time gained did not 
seem to be likely to change the frightful denouement. 

About three o’clock, the Prussians made their pre- 
parations for departure. For an instant past, the 
officer had, as on the previous day, shut himself up 
with Dominique. Frangoise realized that the young 
man’s life was in the balance. She clasped her hands, 
she prayed. Pdre Merlier, beside her, maintained 
silence and the rigid attitude of an old peasant, who 
does not struggle against fate. 

“Oh! mon Dieu ! oh I mon Dieu!” murmured 
Frangoise, “ they are going to kill him I ” 


250 THE miller’s daughter. 

The miller drew her to him, and took her on his 
knees as if she had been a child. 

At that moment, the officer came out, while, behind 
him, two men brought Dominique. 

Never! never!” cried the latter. ‘‘I am ready to 
die ! ” 

‘‘Think well,” resumed the officer. “The service 
you refuse me another will render us. I am generous: 
I offer you 3^our life. I want you simply to guide us 
through the forest to Montredon. There must be 
pathway's leading there.” 

Dominique was silent. 

“So, you persist in your infatuation, do you?” 

“Kill me and end all this!” replied the young man. 

Frangoise, her hands clasped, supplicated him from 
afar. She had forgotten everything; she would have 
advised him to commit an act of cowardice. But Pdre 
Merlier seized her hands that the Prussians might not 
see her wild gestures. 

“ He is right,” whispered he : “ it is better to die ! ” 

The platoon of execution was there. The officer 
awaited a sign of weakness on Dominique’s part. He 
still expected to conquer him. No one spoke. In 
the distance violent crashes of thunder were heard. 
Oppressive heat weighed upon the country. But, sud- 
denl}^ amid the silence, a cry broke forth : 

“ The French ! the French ! ” 

Yes, the French were at hand. Upon the Sauval 
highway, at the edge of the wood, the line of red 
pantaloons could be distinguished. In the mill there 


THE miller’s daughter. 251 


was an extraordinary agitation. The Prussian soldiers 
ran hither and thither, with guttural exclamations. 
Not a shot had yet been fired. 

“The French! the French I ” cried Frangoise, clap- 
ping her hands. 

She was wild with joy. She escaped from her 
father’s grasp ; she laughed and tossed her arms in 
the air. At last, they had come and come in time, 
since Dominique was still alive I 

A terrible platoon fire, which burst upon her ears 
like a clap of thunder, caused her to turn. The officer 
muttered between his teeth ; 

“ Before everything, let us settle this affair ! ” 

And, witli his own hand pushing Dominique against 
the wall of a shed, he ordered his men to fire. When 
Frangoise looked, Dominique lay upon the ground, 
with blood streaming from his neck and shoulders. 

She did not weep ; she stood stupefied. Her eyes 
grew fixed and she sat down under the shed, a few 
paces from the body. She stared at it, wringing her 
hands. The Prussians had seized Pere Merlier as a 
hostage. 

It was a stirring combat. The officer had rapidly 
posted his men, compreliending that he could not beat 
a retreat without being cut to pieces. Hence, he 
would fight to the last. Now, the Prussians defended 
the mill and the French attacked it. The fusillade 
began with unusual violence. For half an hour, it 
did not cease. Then, a hollow sound was heard, and 
a ball broke a main branch of the old elm. The 


252 THE miller’s daughter. 


French had cannon. A battery, stationed just above 
the ditch in which Dominique liad hidden himself, 
swept the wide street of Rocreuse. The struggle 
could not last long. 

Ah! the poor mill! Balls pierced it in every part. 
Half of the roof was carried away. Two walls were 
battered down. But it was on the side of the Morelle 
that the destruction was most lamentable. The ivy, 
torn from the tottering edifice, hung like rags ; the 
river was encumbered with wrecks of all kinds, and, 
through a breach, was visible Frangoise’s chamber 
with its bed, the white curtains of which were care- 
fully closed. Shot followed shot; the old wheel 
received two balls and gave vent to an agonizing 
groan : the buckets were borne off by the current, 
the framework was crushed. The soul of the gay 
mill had left it ! 

Then, the French began the assault. There was a 
furious fight with swords and bayonets. Beneath 
the rust-colored skj^, the valley was choked with the 
dead. The broad meadows had a wild look, with their 
tall, isolated trees and their hedges of poplars which 
stained them with shade. To the right and to the 
left, the forests were like the walls of an ancient 
amphitheatre which enclosed the fighting gladiators, 
while the springs, the fountains and the flowing brooks 
seemed to sob amid the panic of the country. 

Beneath the shed, Fran^oise still sat near Domi- 
nique’s body ; she had not moved. Pere Merlier 
had received a slight wound. The Prussians were 


THE miller’s daughter. 253 


exterminated, but the ruined mill was on fire in a 
dozen places. The French rushed into the courtyard, 
headed by their captain. It was his first success of 
the war. His face beamed with triumph. He waved 
his sword, shouting : 

“ Victory ! victory ! ” 

On seeing the wounded miller, who was endeavoring 
to comfort Frangoise, and noticing the body of Domi- 
nique, his joyous look changed to one of sadness. 
Then, he knelt beside the young man, and, tearing 
open his blouse, put his hand to his heart. 

“ Thank God ! ” he cried, “ it is yet beating ! Send 
for the surgeon ! ” 

At the captain’s words, Fran§oise leaped to her feet. 

“ There is hope ! ” she cried. Oh ! tell me there is 
hope ! ” 

At that moment the surgeon appeared. He made a 
hasty examination, and said ; 

‘‘The young man is severely hurt, but life is not 
extinct, he can be saved ! ” 

By the surgeon’s orders, Dominique was transported 
to a neighboring cottage, where he was placed in bed. 
His wounds were dressed, restoratives were adminis- 
tered, and he soon recovered consciousness. When 
he opened his eyes, he saw Frangoise sitting beside 
him and, through the open window, caught sight of 
P^re Merlier talking with the French captain. He 
passed his hand over his forehead with a bewildered 
air, and said : 

“ They did not kill me, after all ! ” 


254 THE miller’s daughter. 

‘^No,” replied Fran^oise. ‘‘The French came and 
their surgeon saved you.” 

Pere Merlier turned and said through the window : 

“No talking yet, my young ones! ” 

In due time Dominique was entirely restored, and, 
when peace again blessed the land he wedded his 
beloved Fran§oise. 

The mill was rebuilt, and Pere Merlier had a new 
wheel upon which to bestow whatever tenderness was 
not engrossed by his daughter and her husband. 


THE END, 



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